all came a pack of great scrawny dogs that bayed behind us hungrily,
following for an hour until hope of plunder vanished.

"That little she-devil who has taken a fancy to Will," said Fred
with a grin, "is capable of more atrocities than all the Turks between
here and Stamboul! She looks to me like Santanita, Cleopatra, Salome,
Caesar's wife, and all the Borgia ladies rolled in one. There's
something added, though, that they lacked."

"Youth," said I. "Beauty. Athletic grace. Sinuous charm."

"No, probably they all had all those."

"Then horsemanship."

"Perhaps. Didn't Cleopatra ride?"

"Then what?" said I, puzzled.

"Indiscretion!" he answered, jerking loose the catch of his infernal
instrument.

"Don't be afraid, old ladies," he said, glancing at the harridans
between us. "I'm only going to sing!"

He makes up nearly all of his songs, and some of them, although
irreverent, are not without peculiar merit; but that was one of
his worst ones.

The preachers prate of fallen man