All up and down the line she was said to be "Independent as a hog on ice"-- a simile not pretty, perhaps, nor even exact, but frequently applied, nevertheless, to self-reliant souls like the Hartley operator.
Be that as it may, she received gracious permission to lock the office door from the outside, and she was not long in doing so, and heaved a great sigh of relief when it was done.

She went straight to the store, and straight back to where Pete Hamilton was leaning over a barrel redolent of pickled pork.

He came up with dripping hands and a treasure-trove of flabby meat, and while he was dangling it over the barrel until the superfluous brine dripped away, she asked him for a horse.
"I dunno where Saunders is again," he said, letting his consent be taken for granted.

"But I'll go myself and saddle up, if you'll mind the store.

Soon as I finish waitin' on this customer," he added, casting a glance toward a man who sat upon the counter and dangled his legs while he apathetically munched stale pretzels and waited for his purchases.
"Oh, I can saddle, all right, Pete.