He rolled over and glared at Cash, who had cooked his supper
and was sitting down to eat it alone. Cash was looking
particularly misanthropic as he bent his head to meet the upward
journey of his coffee cup, and his eyes, when they lifted
involuntarily with Bud's sudden movement. had still that hard
look of bottled-up rancor that had impressed itself upon Bud
earlier in the day.
Neither man spoke, or made any sign of friendly recognition.
Bud would not have talked to any one in his present state of
self-disgust, but for all that Cash's silence rankled. A moment
their eyes met and held; then with shifted glances the souls of
them drew apart--farther apart than they had ever been, even
when they quarreled over Pete, down in Arizona.
When Cash had finished and was filing his pipe, Bud got up and
reheated the coffee, and fried more bacon and potatoes, Cash
having cooked just enough for himself. Cash smoked and gave no
heed, and Bud retorted by eating in silence and in straightway
washing his own cup, plate, knife, and fork and wiping clean the
side of the table where he always sat. He did not look at Cash,
but he felt morbidly that Cash was regarding him with that
hateful sneer hidden under his beard.
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