“Mighty, who’d bury you if you got killed?” I asks.
He fills his gun thoughtful-like.
“Never gave it a thought, Ike. Friends, I reckon.”
“Friends in life may renege in death.”
“You sure touches me deep-like, Ike.”
“Sure. Maybe they just dig a hole, throw you in and say, ‘Here goes
nothing,’ or they might put you in a pauper’s grave.”
“What is a pauper, Ike?”