He stripped to his underclothes and turned in under the patchwork comforters.

He was too beat out to want any supper, even if there'd been any in sight.

I built a fire in the rusty cook stove and dried his duds and mine.

Then I set down in the busted chair and begun to think.

After a spell I got up and took account of stock, as you might say, of the eatables in the shanty.