Excerpt from The Golden Butterfly, Vol. 1 of 3: A Novel
'What do you think, chief?'
The speaker, who was leading by half a length, turned in his saddle and looked at his companion.
'Push on,' growled the chief, who was a man of few words.
'If you were not so intolerably conceited about the value of your words-hang it, man, you are not the Poet Laureate!-you might give your reasons why we should not camp where we are. The sun will be down in two hours; the way is long, the wind is cold, or will be soon.
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