Then he says, using the words DEAD HOSS as Bud had said he would.
"A DEAD HOSS is fitten fo' nothing but to skin." "Well," I says, using the words fur the third time, as instructed, "it is a DEAD HOSS all right." I hearn the window shut and purty soon the front door opened.
"Come up here," he says.

I come.
"Who rode that hoss yo' been talking about ?" he asts.
"One of the SILENT BRIGADE," I tells him, as Bud had told me to say.

I give him the grip Bud had showed me with his good hand.
"Come on in," he says.
He shut the door behind us and lighted a lamp agin.

And we looked each other over.

He was a scrawny little feller, with little gray eyes set near together, and some sandy-complected whiskers on his chin.