"It strikes me as a very curious boast.
Improving the occasion's a riling thing, but there was never a slave in the world tighter bound than you." "That's an impertinence!" Benson exclaimed with a flush, as unsatisfied longing drove him to fury.

"What business is it of yours to preach to me?
Confound you, who are _you_?
I tell you, I won't have it! Give me food enough to last until I reach Sweetwater, and let me go!" As he spoke, a haughty ring crept into his voice.

Benson would not have used that tone in his normal state, but he belonged by right of birth to a ruling caste, and no doubt felt that he had been treated with indignity by a man of lower station.

Harding, however, answered quietly.
"I am a paint factory drummer who has never had the opportunities you have enjoyed; but so long as we're up here in the wilds the only thing that counts is that we're men with the same weaknesses and feelings.
Because that's so, and you're hard up against it, my partner and I mean to see you through." "You can't unless I'm willing.

Man, don't you realize that talking's of no use?
The thing I'm driven by won't yield to words.