Stitches in a
mule's hide is his bug. He could stitch up any horse on the place and
never have the least hunch; but let it be a mule--Say! Down there right
now he's thinking about the thousand dollars or so I'm keeping him out
of. I judge from his song that he'd figured on a trip East to New York
City or Denver. At that, I don't know as I blame him. Yes, sir; that's
what reminded me of foreigners and bazaars and vice, and so on--and poor
Egbert Floud."
My hostess drew about her impressive shoulders a blanket of Indian weave
that dulled the splendours of the western sky, and rolled a slender
cigarette from the tobacco and papers at her side. By the ensuing flame
of a match I saw that her eyes gleamed with the light of pure narration.
"Foreigners, bazaars, vice, and Egbert Floud?" I murmured, wishing these
to be related more plausibly one to another.
"I'm coming to it," said the lady; and, after two sustaining inhalations
from the new cigarette, forthwith she did:
* * * * *
It was late last winter, while I was still in Red Gap. The talk went
round that we'd ought to have another something for the Belgians.
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