There's no risk, and when there's no risk there's no pleasure.

Anyway that's my notion.' 'Talking about risks, why didn't you work that Marquis of Lorne racket better?
We saw in the papers that the troopers hunted you so close you had to kill him in the ranges.' Father looked over at us and then began to laugh--not long, and he broke off short.

Laughing wasn't much in his line.
'Killed him, did we?
And a horse worth nigh on to two thousand pounds.
You ought to have known your old father better than that.

We did kill A chestnut horse, one we picked out a purpose; white legs, white knee, short under lip, everything quite regular.

We even fed him for a week on prairie grass, just like the Marquis had been eating.