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Updated: June 6, 2025
Master Langdon 's actin' under my orders, and I claim that hoss and all that's on him. Hiram! jest slip off that saddle and bridle, and carry 'em up to the Institoot, and bring down a pair of pinchers and a file, and stop fetch a pair of shears, too; there's hoss-hair enough in that mane and tail to stuff a bolster with." "You let that hoss alone!" spoke up Colonel Sprowle.
I'd be talked about in some places." She laid her hands on the shoulders of her guest, her face beaming. "Now, ef you want to primp up a little an' bresh that hoss-hair off'n yore pants, go in yore room. It's at the end o' the back porch. Alf's already tuck yore saddle-bags thar." His room was a small one. It had a sloping ceiling, and a little six-paned window.
That's great just to see 'em. Just as quiet and easy. But oh, the difference! Bent and stiff that means every muscle is like a rawhide riata. They're watchin' with eyes that can see the workin's of them Greasers' minds. Now there ain't a hoss-hair between them Greasers and hell!"
"Thornton's woman always kep' hit in the old hoss-hair chist in ther attic an' she always kep' ther chist locked up tight as beeswax." Sim paused and grinned as he added, "But woman-fashion she sometimes fergot ter lock up ther key." Rowlett was running through the pages whose ancient script was as meaningless to him as might have been a papyrus roll taken from the crypts of a pyramid.
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