This feller Bard looks like a tenderfoot; he sounds like a tenderfoot; but he ain't a tenderfoot." Feeling that this parting shot gave him the honours of the meeting, he turned away whistling with such spirit that one of his dogs, overhearing, stood still and gazed at his master with his head cocked wisely to one side.
His eastern course Nash pursued for a mile or more, and then swung sharp to the south.

He was weary, like his horse, and he made no attempt to start a sudden burst of speed.

He let the pony go on at the same tireless jog, clinging like a bulldog to the trail.
About midday he sighted a small house cuddled into a hollow of the hills and made toward it.

As he dismounted, a tow-headed, spindling boy lounged out of the doorway and stood with his hands shoved carelessly into his little overall pockets.
"Hello, young feller." "'Lo, stranger." "What's the chance of bunking here for three or four hours and gettin' a good feed for the hoss ?" "Never better.

Gimme the hoss; I'll put him up in the shed.