But now--I'm going, just as quick as the Lord'll let me get a saddle on that yellow mustang." "Why, you--" "Why, I nothing! I'm going.

If you want to go along, you can; but I won't drag you off by the heels.

You can suit yourself." He stamped himself into the other boot, went over and splashed cold water into his eyes and upon his head, shook off the drops that clung to his hair, made a few violent passes with towel and brush, and reached for his sombrero.
"It's a long ways to ride on an empty stomach," Dade reminded him dryly.
"We can stop at Jerry Simpson's and eat.

That won't be more than a mile or so out of the way." Jack's hand was on the latch.
"And that yellow horse ain't what you can call trail-broke." "He will be, by the time I get to the mine!" Dade threw out both hands in surrender.

"Oh, well--you darned donkey, give me time to tell Don Andres good-by, anyway." Jack's eyes lighted with the smile Dade knew and loved to see.