own hair, an' freckled
neck, red lips, fierce, tiger fierce--

"Another damned suppliant?" she asked, and Bull was holding a light for
her cigarette. "Is it saved?" she added.

I couldn't speak. I wanted to tell her how I despised all the religion
I'd seen, the bigots it made, an' the cowards. I'd rather burn with the
goats than bleat among sheep even now.

"Oh, that's all right, then," she said as though she answered me, and
frank as a man she gave her hand to shake. "Good stunt of mine, eh?
Although I own I'd like to have that cross stage-managed."

She passed the weather, admired Tiger, talked Browns and Joneses with
Bull, turning her back on me, asked him to supper, walked off with him,
an' that's all. Egg-shells throw'd in the ash-heap may feel like I did
then.

Nobody loved me, 'cept our pony herd, inquirin' piteous for food an'
water. A widow O'Flynn fed me supper, her grub bein' so scarce and bad,
poor soul, she had to charge a dollar to make it pay. She kep' a wooden
leg, and a small son. Our boys, of course, was drunk by then, just
sleepin' whar they'd fell, so I was desolate as a moonlit dog-howl,
ridin' herd with my night horse whar Polly's little home glowed lights
across the prairie. I seen Bull and the preacher leave there on toward
midnight, walkin' sort of extravagant into town. The lights went out.
Then times I'd take some sleep, or times ride herd guarding her little
house, till the cold came, till the dawn broke, till the sun came up.

It was half past breakfast when I seen Bull again, on his knees like
yesterday, a-puttin' up loud prayers, which made me sick. "Rehearsin',"
says he, "'cause Polly's struck, and I'm to be chief mourner."

He was my only chance of meetin' Miss Polly agen, so I was leadin' the
talk around, when a guy comes butting into our conversation. He'd puffed
sleeves to his pants, and was all dressed saucy, standing straddle,
aiming to impress. "Oh, whar's my gun?" says Bull.

This person owned to being a gentleman, with a strong English accent.
He'd 'undreds of 'orses at 'ome in 'Ammersmith, but wanted to own an
'ack 'ere, don'tcherknow.

So Bull lefts up his eyes to Heaven, praying, "Oh, don't deliver us from
temptation yet!" Whereas I confided with this person about Bull being
far gone in religious mania. I owned Bull right though, about my bein' a
sailor, timid with 'orses; and he seen for hisself the way I was riding
my Sam 'orse somethin' dreadful. Told me I'd ought