It was a cold invitation, lacking warmth or sympathy, and Billy felt that even this man wished that he had died before he reached the cabin. But the man was human; he had at least not cast his voice with the one that had wanted to throw him back into the snow, and he tried to voice his gratitude and at the same time to hide his hunger. He saw that there were three thin slices of bacon in the frying-pan, and it struck him that it would be bad taste to reveal a starvation appetite in the face of such famine. Bucky was looking straight at him as he limped to his feet, and he was sure now that the man he had driven from the Service had not recognized him. He approached Sweedy.
“You saved my life,” he said, holding out a hand. “Will you shake?”
Sweedy shook hands limply.
“It’s hell,” he said, in a low voice. “We’d have had beans this morning if I hadn’t shook dice with him last night.” He nodded toward Bucky, who was cutting open the top of a can. “He won!”
“My God—” began Billy.
He didn’t finish. Sweedy turned the meat, and added:
“He won a square meal off me yesterday— a quarter of a pound of bacon. Day before that he won Henry’s last can of beans. He’s got his share under his blanket over there, and swears he’ll shoot any one who goes to monkeyin’ with his bed— so you’d better fight shy of it. Thompson— he isn’t up yet— chose the whisky for his share, so you’d better fight shy of him, too. Henry and I’ll divvy up with you.”
“Thanks,” said Billy, the one word choking him.
Henry came from his bunk, bent and wabbling. He looked like a dying man, and for the first time Billy noticed that his hair was gray. He was a little man, and his thin hands shook as he held them out over the stove and nodded to Billy. Bucky had opened his can, and approached the stove with a pan of water, coming in beside Billy without noticing him. He brought with him a foul odor of stale tobacco smoke and whisky. After he had put his water over the fire he turned to one of the bunks and with half a dozen coarse epithets roused Thompson, who sat up stupidly, still half drunk. Henry had gone to a small table, and Sweedy followed him with the bacon. Billy did not move. He forgot his hunger. His pulse was beating quickly. Sensations filled him which he had never known or imagined before. Was it possible that these were people of his own kind? Had a madness of some sort driven all human instincts from them? He saw Thompson’s red eyes fastened upon him, and he turned his face to escape their questioning, stupid leer. Bucky was turning out the can of beans he had won. Beyond him the door creaked, and Billy heard the wail of the storm. It came to him now as a friendly sort of sound.
“Better draw up, pardner,” he heard Sweedy say. “Here’s your share.”