Yet his general appearance was so unusual that a group of townsfolk had already assembled round him, staring with open mouth at his horse and himself.
A battered gun with an extremely long barrel was fastened by the stock to his stirrup, while the muzzle stuck up into the air behind him.
At each holster was a large dangling black bag, and a gaily coloured red-slashed blanket was rolled up at the back of his saddle.

His horse, a strong-limbed dapple-gray, all shiny with sweat above, and all caked with mud beneath, bent its fore knees as it stood, as though it were overspent.

The rider, however, having satisfied himself as to the house, sprang lightly out of his saddle, and disengaging his gun, his blanket, and his bags, pushed his way unconcernedly through the gaping crowd and knocked loudly at the door.
"Who is he, then ?" asked De Catinat.

"A Canadian?
I am almost one myself.

I had as many friends on one side of the sea as on the other.
Perchance I know him.