My father always told me that this horse was not fit to ride; but since my father rode him--as he would any horse that offered--nothing would serve me but I must ride Satan also, and so I made him my private saddler on occasion.
I ought to speak of my father, that very brave and kindly gentleman from whom I got what daring I ever had, I suppose.

He was a clean-cut man, five-eleven in his stockings, and few men in all that country had a handsomer body.

His shoulders sloped--an excellent configuration for strength--as a study of no less a man than George Washington will prove--his arms were round, his skin white as milk, his hair, like my own, a sandy red, and his eyes blue and very quiet.

There was a balance in his nature that I have ever lacked.

I rejoice even now in his love of justice.