“No.”
“Hain’t said nothin’, have I, ’bout what may happen to you after you git there?”
“Only that I may get my throat cut.”
“What’s the difference if you do? But if you wants to, I’ll gamble my chest agin a chaw that you won’t. Nothin’ ever comes out right.”
“But I don’t want to. I most particularly object to getting my throat cut.”
“Then,” said Stubbs, “maybe you will. Where’s your kit?”
“On my back.”
“You’ll need more than that. Come on.”
Stubbs led the way to a second-hand store and bought for his new-found friend a flannel shirt, trousers like his own, a pair of stout boots, and a cap.