Eat it, and we'll smoke.

Praise God I've got my pipe and tobacco!" They settled back close in the lee of the drift, and the wind swirled white clouds of snow-mist over their heads, while DeBar ate his bird and Philip smoked.

The food that went down DeBar's throat was only a morsel, but it put new life into him, and he gathered fresh armfuls of sticks and sapling boughs until the fire burned Philip's face and his drying clothes sent up clouds of steam.

Once, a hundred yards out in the plain, Philip heard the outlaw burst into a snatch of wild forest song as he pulled down a dead stub.
"Seems good to have comp'ny," he said, when he came back with his load.
"My God, do you know I've never felt quite like this--so easy and happy like, since years and years?
I wonder if it is because I know the end is near ?" "There's still hope," replied Philip.
"Hope!" cried DeBar.

"It's more than hope, man.