Even the sober souls of these waiters rose to it, felt some thrill they themselves had never analyzed.
A boy of twenty, tall, blond, tousled, rode up from the grove back of the encampment of the Wingate family.
"You, Jed ?" said his father.

"Ride on out and see if Molly's there." "Sure she is!" commented the youth, finding a plug in the pocket of his jeans.

"That's her.

Two fellers, like usual." "Sam Woodhull, of course," said the mother, still hand over eye.

"He hung around all winter, telling how him and Colonel Doniphan whipped all Mexico and won the war.