There was one bit of poetry I forgit it now that that there jackaroo kep' sayin' over an' over agen till it buzzed in me head; an', weeks after, I'd ketch the missus mutterin' it to herself in the kitchen till I thought she was goin' ratty. An' we gets a letter from the jackaroo's friends that puts us to a lot more bother. I hate havin' anythin' to do with letters.
Four-Pound-the-Second had missed Jackaroo's quarters by half a length; but the big horse never faltered in his stride, charging on like a bull-buffalo, and rising at the water as the mare landed over it. The old man dropped his glasses, and settled back on his heels. "What next?" he said. "Can't do much now, I guess," answered Silver comfortably. Old Mat turned in his lips.