And Slim gave him none. At last Candy said softly and hopelessly, “Awright—take 'im.”
He did not look down at the dog at all. He lay back on his bunk and crossed his arms behind his head
and stared at the ceiling. From his pocket Carlson took a little leather thong.
He stooped over and tied it around the old dog's neck. All the men except Candy watched him.
“Come boy. Come on, boy,” he said gently. And he said apologetically to Candy, “He won't even feel it.”
Candy did not move nor answer him. He twitched the thong. “Come on, boy.”
The old dog got slowly and stiffly to his feet and followed the gently pulling leash.
Slim said, “Carlson.” “Yeah?” “You know what to do.”
“What ya mean, Slim?” “Take a shovel,” said Slim shortly. “Oh, sure! I get you.”
He led the dog out into the darkness. George followed to the door and shut the door
and set the latch gently in its place. Candy lay rigidly on his bed staring at the ceiling.
Slim said loudly, “One of my lead mules got a bad hoof. Got to get some tar on it.”
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