I've got all yer fodder, which-all I'll carry on June and July.
Them's my pack mules.

Work singly or in pairs.

Kin kick like all possessed.

No great scratch whether there's anythin' to kick at or not, but they know better'n to kick me, though they ain't no love for Henry, and he gives them heels plenty of room, 'cept one time when he forgot hisself and got kicked clear out into the road, and nigh into kingdom come, and I'll bet the pair of 'em that ye folks ain't got a hoss in the outfit, not even that bronco with the glassy eye, that kin kick once to June or July's twenty kicks, and, if you don't believe it, just heave a tin can at one or t'other of 'em and see if ye can count the kicks, but keep the road between ye and the kicks or I shan't be responsible for what happens to ye, because I know them mules and I know what they can do, and then agin--" "Oh, help!" wailed Emma.
"The voice of nature," chuckled Hippy.

"And to think we've got to listen to it for weeks to come." "What's that ye say ?" demanded Joe.
"I--I think I was thinking out loud.