The old puncher leaned back, his hands behind his head, and puffed clouds of smoke into the air.

He looked at the smoke as though he saw pictures in it.

Then he carefully threw the cigarette down and ground his heel into it.

As the other men had remained silent while he was talking to Dorgan, they remained silent now.
He was a product of an epic time in the West, a time when the others had been boys.

Naturally a quiet man, he had had little to say.