Of course his proclivities occasionally led to misapprehensions;
chance acquaintances who recognized him as an artful romancer were
liable to consider him generally untruthful. But even in this
misconception Blaze took a quiet delight, secure in the knowledge
that all who knew him well regarded him as a rock of integrity. As
a matter of fact, his genuine exploits were quite as sensational
as those of his manufacture.
When, after supper, Blaze had hitched a pair of driving-mules to
his buckboard, preparatory to showing his guest the glories of
Jonesville, Dave said:
"Paloma's getting mighty pretty."
"She's as pretty as a blue-bonnet flower," her father agreed. "And
she runs me around something scandalous. I 'ain't got the freedom
of a peon." Blaze sighed and shook his shaggy head. "You know me,
Dave; I never used to be scared of nobody. Well, it's different
now. She rides me with a Spanish bit, and my soul ain't my own."
With a sudden lightening of his gloom, he added: "Say, you're
going to stay right here with us as long as you're in town; I want
you to see how I cringe." In spite of Blaze's plaintive tone it
was patent that he was inordinately proud of Paloma and well
content with his serfdom.
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