"Anybody got th' makin's?" asked Jed.
"Here," muttered Danny beside him, and thrust pouch and papers into his hand.
Danny followed Jed in the cigarette rolling, and they lighted from the same match with an interchange of smiles that added another strand to the bond between them.
"That's good tobacco," Jed pronounced, blowing out a whiff of smoke.
"Ought to be; it cost two dollars a pound."
Jed laughed queerly.
"Yes, it ought to," he agreed, "but we've got a tobacco out here they call Satin. Ten cents a can. It tastes mighty good to us."
Danny sensed a gentle rebuke, but he somehow knew that it was given in all kindliness, that it was given for his own good.
"While I fight up one way," he thought, "I must fight down another." And then aloud: "We'll stock up with your tobacco. What's liked by one ought to be good enough for—" He let the sentence trail off.
Jed answered with: "Both."