He was a bit pale, but he pulled himself together well before he reached them and dismounted with a good front of unconcern.

Battersleigh grasped his hand in both his own and greeted him with a shower of welcomes and of compliments.

Curly slapped him heartily upon the shoulders.
"You're all right, pardner," said he.

"You're the d----dest best pilgrim that ever struck this place, an' I kin lick ary man that says differ'nt.
He's yore horse now, shore." "And how do ye do, Ned?
God bless ye!" said Battersleigh a moment later, after things had become more tranquil, the horse now falling to cropping at the grass with a meekness of demeanour which suggested innocence or penitence, whichever the observer chose.

"I'm glad to see ye; glad as ivver I was in all me life to see a livin' soul! Why didn't ye tell ye was coming and not come ridin' like a murderin' Cintaur--but ay, boy, ye're a rider--worthy the ould Forty-siventh--yis, more, I'll say ye might be a officer in the guards, or in the Rile Irish itself, b'gad, yes, sir!--Curly, ye divvil, what do ye mean by puttin' me friend on such a brute, him the first day in the land?
And, Ned, how are ye goin' to like it here, me boy ?" Franklin wiped his forehead as he replied to Battersleigh's running fire of salutations.
"Well, Battersleigh," he said, "I must say I've been pretty busy ever since I got here, and so far as I can tell at this date, I'm much disposed to think this is a strange and rather rapid sort of country you've got out here." "Best d----n pilgrim ever hit this rodeo!" repeated Curly, with conviction.
"Shut up, Curly, ye divvil!" said Battersleigh.