gave it a piece of his bread.

"Well, Crony Long-Face?" he said fondly.

He then put his left foot in the great box-stirrup and swung himself
into the saddle--a very different kind of saddle from those with which
the boy was familiar.

It reminded him of Circuses and the Lord Mayor's Show. It was big
enough for two and there was a lot of velvet and stuff about it and a
fine gold _C.R._--whatever that might mean--on a big pretty cloth
under it (perhaps the gentleman's initials were C.R. just as his own
were D. de W. and on some of his things).

The great fat handle of a great fat pistol stuck up on each side of
the front of the saddle.

"Follow," said the gentleman to the iron-bound person, and moved off
at a walk towards a road not far distant.

"Stap him! Spit him, Seymour," called the pink-faced man, "and warn
him not of the hilt-thrust."

As he passed the corner of the camp, two men with great axe-headed
spear things performed curious evolutions with their cumbersome
weapons, finally laying the business ends of them on the ground as the
gentleman rode by.

He touched his hat to them with his switch.