"You're the real thing, and I'd do as much for you, old pal.

I'll make that Frenchman rub Spikes down for an hour, or I'll kill him when I get back." "You won't come back," said Frosty bruskly.

"See that streak uh yellow, over there?
Get a move on, if yuh don't want to miss that train--but ease Spikes up the hills!" I nodded, pulled my hat down low over my eyes, and rode away; when I did get courage to glance back, Frosty still stood where I had left him, looking down at the gray horse.
An hour after sunrise I slipped off Spikes and watched them lead him away to the stable; he staggered like a man when he has drunk too long and deeply.

I swallowed a cup of coffee, mounted a little buckskin, and went on, with Pochette's assurance, "Don't be afraid to put heem through," ringing in my ears.

I was not afraid to put him through.