Whiskey's half a dollar.

Well, he drinks his whiskey, plunks down two horseshoe nails, and it's O.K.

No kick comin' on horseshoe nails.

They use 'em to make change." "You must be a brave man to venture into the country again after such an experience.

Won't you tell me your name?
We may meet on the Inside." "Who?
Me?
Oh, I'm Del Bishop, pocket-miner; and if ever we run across each other, remember I'd give you the last shirt--I mean, remember my last bit of grub is yours." "Thank you," she answered with a sweet smile; for she was a woman who loved the things which rose straight from the heart.
He stopped rowing long enough to fish about in the water around his feet for an old cornbeef can.
"You'd better do some bailin'," he ordered, tossing her the can.
"She's leakin' worse since that squeeze." Frona smiled mentally, tucked up her skirts, and bent to the work.