Thursday, August 20, 2009

Don't want it polluting things do we? Best to put it carefully in a can and—" "Keep it safe?" said.

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Bills. The door slammed. "That's Jack Thompson " the barkeeper said. "Made two millions on Bonanza and Sulphur and got more coming. I'm going to bed. Have another drink first. " Morganson hesitated. "A Christmas drink " the other urged. "It's all right. I'll get it back when you sell your wood. " Morganson mastered his drunkenness long enough to swallow the whisky say good night and get out on the trail. It was moonlight and he hobbled along through the bright silvery quiet with a vision of life before him that took the form of a roll of hundred-dollar bills. He awoke. It was dark and he was in his blankets. He had gone to bed in his moccasins and mittens with the flaps of his cap pulled down over his ears. He got up as quickly as his crippled condition.
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