"Aw, shut your head," grumbled Kloon disdainfully. "You allus was a dirty rat — you sneakin' trap robber. Enough's enough. I ain't no use for no billion million dollar bills. Ten thousand'll buy me all I cal'late to need till I'm planted. But you're like a hawg; you ain't never had enough o' nothin' and you won't never git enough, neither, — not if you wuz God a'mighty you wouldn't."
"Ten thousand dollars hain't nothin' to a billion million, Jake."
Kloon squirted a stream of tobacco at a pitcher plant and filled the cup. Diverted and gratified by the accuracy of his aim, he took other shots at intervals.
Leverett moved the muzzle of his rifle a hair's width to the left, shivered, moved it again. Under his soggy, sun-tanned skin a pallour made his visage sickly grey.
"Jake?"
No answer.
"Say, Jake?"
No notice.
"Jake, I wanta take a peek at them bills."
Merely another stream of tobacco soiling the crimson pitcher.