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Updated: June 29, 2025
'WHO-HOOP! repeated he, still louder, holding the fox up in grim death above the baying pack. 'Who-hoop! exclaimed Miss Glitters, reining up in delight alongside the chestnut. 'Who-hoop! repeated she, diving into the saddle-pocket for her lace-fringed handkerchief. 'Throw me my whip! cried Mr. Sponge, repelling the attacks of the hounds from behind with his heels.
"I suppose it's silly to feel that way, especially with Alf here," she murmured as she reached the fence and swung herself out of the saddle. "But I do wish I hadn't taken his word about Buck Green." She took a small pair of pliers from her saddle-pocket and deftly untwisted the strands of wire from one of the posts, while Freckles looked on with an expression of intelligent interest.
He spread his saddle-blankets, rolled a cigarette, and smoked. Presently he rose and took some food from a saddle-pocket. The pony, unused to the desert, fretted and sniffed at the sagebrush with evident disgust. Collie had given her water, but there was no grazing. After he had eaten he studied the rough map that Overland had given him. There, to the south, was the desert town.
Still less feasible is it in a crowded street; so, though Cecil at once recognised the handwriting of Du Meresq, it had to be consigned to the saddle-pocket till the traffic was threaded, and she had entered on a quiet corduroy road by the lake. Then she opened it with a flattering feeling of expectation, and was half-disappointed at its calm commencement.
The Mexicans, led by Loring, loped up and reined with a slither of hoofs and the snorting of excited ponies. Corliss held up his hand. Loring spurred forward and Corliss rode to meet him. "Want any more of it?" queried Corliss. "I'll take all you got," snarled Loring. "All right. Just listen a minute." And Corliss reached in his saddle-pocket.
Mr. Dawson agitatedly dived his hand once more into the saddle-pocket. And this time he pulled out a tortoise-shell shuttle round which was wrapped several inches of lingerie edging. But Mr. Dawson did not call it lingerie edging. He called it tatting and swore again. "That settles it," he said, cheerlessly. "I've stole some woman's cayuse."
Davies heard the appeal and turned to his sergeant. "Tell Dunn to come up here alongside," said he, reaching down into his saddle-pocket; "I've half a plug left, sergeant, and we'll divide." "It'll help the men as much as a square meal, sir," said the trooper, gratefully; "but I never saw the lieutenant chew." "I don't, but it's some I fetched along for just such an emergency."
Downstairs in the hall he set it on the floor, examined it, rocked it with one finger. The horse returned to its ancient office as if it were irrevocably ordained to service. Ebenezer, his head on one side, stood for some time regarding it. Then he slipped something in its worn saddle-pocket. Last, he lifted and settled the thing under his arm.
His problem was simple. The answer would be definite. He returned to the shelter of the brush, dropped the glasses into a saddle-pocket, and stretched himself wearily. A few yards below him, on a brush-dotted level, his horse, Dexter, slowly circled his picket and nibbled at the scant bunch-grass.
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