He wasn't afraid--but...
Silver, cropping steadily at the grass which must be his only supper, turned and came slowly toward the Kid in his search for sweeter grass-tufts.

The Kid choked off the third sob and sat up ashamed.

He tugged at the bag and made believe to Silver that his sole trouble was with his pillow.
"By cripes, that damn' jelly glass digs right into my ear," he complained aloud, to help along the deception.

"You go back, old-timer--I'm all right.

I'm a--rell--ole cowpuncher; ain't I, old-timer?
We're makin' a dry-camp, just like--Happy Jack.