"For why, son?"
"'Cause I'm shamed."
"Of yo'self?"
"Shamed of my father. Our breeding-stock is gone to pay his gambling debts."
"All of it?"
"What's left is offal. Now you leave me go!"
"Whar to?"
"To follow Balshannon's trail—drink, gambling, shame, death, and a good riddance."
"You'll come with me first," says I, "for an oyster stew and some bear sign. I ain't ate since sun-up."
He came with me for a stew and the doughnuts, which made him feel some better in his heart, and after that I close-herded him until the cattle were shipped, through the evening, through the night, and on to daybreak. Then I rounded up his greaser cowboys from various gambling joints, and pointed him and them for Holy Cross.