 He was cooking up lead in a fry pan. That was one of Billy's chores to make my bullets. He always was a mite clumsy. He sure messed himself up this time. That must have been a lot of lead. Fifty, sixty pounds, I reckon. Mr. Gatlin, that man of yours, Doc's all through with him. He said you can bury him now. Oh, no, I ain't paying for no burial.