“Dollar, I calculate.”

I gave Julio a dollar.

“Well,” Spoade said, “If that’s all⁠—I reckon he’s discharged, your honour?”

The squire didn’t look at him. “How far’d you run him, Anse?”

“Two miles, at least. It was about two hours before we caught him.”

“H’m,” the squire said. He mused a while. We watched him, his stiff crest, the spectacles riding low on his nose. The yellow shape of the window grew slowly across the floor, reached the wall, climbing. Dust motes whirled and slanted. “Six dollars.”

“Six dollars?” Shreve said. “What’s that for?”

“Six dollars,” the squire said. He looked at Shreve a moment, then at me again.