The bird's mate whirred up and away through the trees, and Lorraine was glad that it had escaped.
Al slid the gun back into his holster, leaned from his saddle and picked up the dead grouse as unconcernedly as he would have dismounted, pulled his knife from his boot and drew the bird neatly, flinging the crop and entrails from him.
"Them juniper berries tastes the meat if you don't clean 'em out right away," he remarked casually to Lorraine, as he wiped the knife on his trousers and thrust it back into the boot-scabbard before he tied the grouse to the saddle by its blue, scaley little feet.
When he was ready to go on, Snake refused to budge.

Tough as he was, he had at last reached the limit of his energy and ambition.

Al yanked hard on the bridle reins, then rode back and struck him sharply with his quirt before Snake would rouse himself enough to move forward.

He went stiffly, reluctantly, pulling back until his head was held straight out before him.

Al dragged him so for a rod or two, lost patience and returned to whip him forward again.
"What a brute you are!" Lorraine exclaimed indignantly.