She had thought of him as one with the careless, mischievous soul of
a child but now, in quick, deep glances, she reached to profounder
things.
"I held the bead," he kept repeating, his glance going blankly past
her as he struggled to find words for the strange experience, "but
then I saw his ribs going in and out. He was big where the cinches
would run, you see, and I began to understand where he got that wind
of his that never gives out. Besides, I somehow got to thinking about
his heart under the ribs, lady, and I figured it kind of low to stop
all the life in him with a bullet. So I swung my bead up along his
neck--he's got a long neck and that means a long stride--till I came
plump on his head, and just then he swung his head and gave me a
look."
He breathed deeply, and then: "It was like jumping into cold water all
of a sudden. I felt hollow inside. And then all at once I knew they'd
never been a hoss like him in the mountains. I knew he was an outlaw.
I knew he was plumb bad. But I knew he was a king, lady, and I
couldn't no more shoot him that I could lie behind a bush and shoot a
man." He was suddenly on fire.
"Looked to me like he was my hoss.
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