The wind ceased to clamor, and for a time the rain, relieved of the gale's force, fell straight in a steady tattoo on the roof.

Then it passed, and a slighter coolness of the air, noticeable even in the closeness of the bunk house, was the only token left of the storm's spurt of fury.
"Them storms is like some folks' money; comes hard and goes easy," said Shorty Palmer.
"Comes quick an' goes quicker's more like it," corrected Bill Jordan.
"Have it your own way," grumbled Shorty.

"Not that I have t' tell you that, for you'd have it, anyway." Now that the momentary interruption of the summer tempest had passed, the minds of the company turned to the subject of Bill and Charlie's wager, with the object of it, Injun, sitting on a cracker box and gazing solemnly at nothing in particular.

The other men all looked expectantly at Bill, who fidgeted a moment in his chair, then started, in what he intended for a light, conversational tone.
"Y' all ready for school to-morrow, Whitey ?" Bill began, on his roundabout attack.
"Yeh," Whitey replied gloomily.
"Too bad 'bout you, Injun.

Kind o' disappointin', their barrin' you out.
Kind o' unfair, too." Injun's response to this was as broad a grin as he ever showed to the world.