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No, I barely remembered the rider had generously moved aside to let me go by. In pure sourness at the poverty of my dress and the perfection of his, I had avoided looking at him higher than his hundred-dollar boots. My feet were in uncolored cowhide, except the toes.

I said one might respect religion even if he did not--

"I'm willing," I responded, and we all laughed. The younger horseman asked my name. "Smith," I said, with dignity, and they laughed again, their laugh growing louder when I would not smile.

The General looked at me between puffs of his cigar. "I hear you've ridden over fifty miles to-day."

"Clifton?"

"Don't you know?" I asked.

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