Take a piece of pie, won't you ?" He continued, abandoning this abstract reflection and producing half a flat pumpkin pie from the bar.

Spencer Tucker grasped the pie with one hand and his friend's fingers with the other, and for a few moments was silent from the hurried deglutition of viand and sentiment.

"YOU'RE a white man, Patterson, anyway," he resumed.

"I'll take your horse, and put it down in our account, at your own figure.

As soon as this cursed thing is blown over, I'll be back here and see you through, you bet.