It was an incident to be pleasantly remembered, but whose nonrecurrence did not disturb his infinite patience.

His pork barrel and flour sack had been replenished for other travelers; his own wants were few.
It was a day or two after the midnight visit of the sheriff to Silver Hollow that Key galloped down the steep grade to Collinson's.

He was amused, albeit, in his new importance, a little aggrieved also, to find that Collinson had as usual confounded his descent with that of the generally detached boulder, and that he was obliged to add his voice to the general uproar.

This brought Collinson to his door.
"I've had your hoss hobbled out among the chickweed and clover in the green pasture back o' the mill, and he's picked up that much that he's lookin' fat and sassy," he said quietly, beginning to mechanically unstrap Key's bridle, even while his guest was in the act of dismounting.

"His back's quite healed up." Key could not restrain a shrug of impatience.