“Well—it ain't worth while dividing it.”
Smith's heart shot right down through a hole in the sole of his left boot into the hard road.
“Here, Smith,” said Steelman, handing him the bottle, “drink it, old man; you want it. It wasn't altogether your fault; it was an oversight of mine. I didn't bargain for a woman of that kind, and, of course, YOU couldn't be expected to think of it. Drink it! Drink it down, Smith. I'll manage to work the oracle before this night is out.”
Smith was forced to believe his ears, and, recovering from his surprise, drank.
“I promised to take back the bottle,” he said, with the ghost of a smile.
Steelman took the bottle by the neck and broke it on the fence.
“Come on, Smith; I'll carry the swag for a while.”
And they tramped on in the gathering starlight.