A hillside caught the sound and echoed it back to him with a wonderful clearness, and up and down the long ravine beat the clatter of the flying hoofs.
The whole world shouted and laughed and rode with him on Morgantown.
If the people in the houses that he passed had known they would have started up from their chairs and taken rifle and horse and chased after him on the trail.

But how could they tell from the passing of those ringing hoofs that Pierre, the novice, was dead, and Red Pierre was born?
So they drowsed on about their comfortable fires, and Pierre drew rein with a jerk before the largest of Morgantown's saloons.

He had to set his teeth before he could summon the resolution to throw open the door.

It was done; he stepped inside, and stood blinking in the sudden rush of light against his face.
It was all bewildering at first; the radiance, the blue tangle of smoke, the storm of voices.

For Muldoon's was packed from door to door.