The smith was watching. But I was punishing myself for being a fool. True, a loper might get a mule, but it was much more likely that the mule would get the loper-especially as other mules would close in and help stomp the carnivore. The Senior paused.
I suppost my notions of frontier life had been fed on too many romances: rough, bearded men fighting off dangerous animals, mules hauling covered wagons toward distant horizons. Of course it might not happen that way. Then what does it matter if people assume that I choose to tell my Uncle Gibbie good-bye in bed? Or that I then go away with a But one wagon by itself-One accident can be disaster.
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