He must have heard those metal-armed hoofs as they whirred past his head.
"There is distinctly something worth while about these Westerners, after all," thought Marianne.
Something else was happening now.

The big man with the sandy, long moustaches was lecturing him of the gay attire.
"Nervy enough," he began, "but you'd oughtn't to take a hoss around where kids are, a hoss that ain't learned to stop kicking.

It's a fool thing to do, I say.

I seen once where--" He stopped, agape on his next word, for the lectured had turned on the lecturer, dropped his hands on his hips, and broke into loud laughter.
"Excuse me for laughing," he said when he could speak, "but I didn't see you before and--those whiskers, partner--those whiskers are--" The laughter came again, a gale of it, and Marianne found herself smiling in sympathy.

For they _were_ odd whiskers, to be sure.