The bacon came from the oven juicy-crisp and curled at the edges and
delicately browned. The cakes came out of the baking pan brown and thick
and light. Cash sat down at his end of the table, pulled his own can of
sugar and his own cup of syrup and his own square of butter toward him;
poured his coffee, that he had made in a small lard pail, and began to
eat his breakfast exactly as though he was alone in that cabin.
A great resentment filled Bud's soul to bursting, The old hound! Bud
believed now that Cash was capable of leaving that frying pan dirty for
the rest of the day! A man like that would do anything! If it wasn't for
that claim, he'd walk off and forget to come back.
Thinking of that seemed to crystallize into definite purpose what
had been muddling his mind with vague impulses to let his mood find
expression. He would go to Alpine that day. He would hunt up Frank and
see if he couldn't jar him into showing that he had a mind of his own.
Twice since that first unexpected spree, he had spent a good deal of
time and gold dust and consumed a good deal of bad whisky and beer, in
testing the inherent obligingness of Frank. The last attempt had been
the cause of the final break between him and Cash. Cash had reminded Bud
harshly that they would need that gold to develop their quartz claim,
and he had further stated that he wanted no "truck" with a gambler and
a drunkard, and that Bud had better straighten up if he wanted to keep
friends with Cash.
Bud had retorted that Cash might as well remember that Bud had a half
interest in the two claims, and that he would certainly stay with it.
Meantime, he would tell the world he was his own boss, and Cash needn't
think for a minute that Bud was going to ask permission for what he did
or did not do. Cash needn't have any truck with him, either. It suited
Bud very well to keep on his own side of the cabin, and he'd thank Cash
to mind his own business and not step over the dead line.
Cash had laughed disagreeably and asked Bud what he was going to
do--draw a chalk mark, maybe?
Bud, half drunk and unable to use ordinary good sense, had said yes, by
thunder, he'd draw a chalk line if he wanted to, and if he did, Cash had
better not step over it either, unless he wanted to be kicked back.
Wherefore the broad, black line down the middle of the floor to where
the table stood. Obviously, he could not well divide the stove and the
teakettle and the frying pan and coffeepot. The line stopped abruptly
with a big blob of lampblack mixed with coal oil, just where necessity
compelled them both to use the same floor space.