the autumn midday
We had watched them from the tavern door , Peppers riding between the other two , rolling in his saddle and brandishing his fist . Both he and Malan rode the big brown cattle-horses of Woodford , while Lem Marks rode a bay Hambletonian , slim and nervous , with speed in his legs . The saddles were all black , long skirted , with one girth , -- the Woodford saddles . We followed in the autumn midday . It might have been a scene from some old-time romance -- musketeers of the King and guards of his mighty Eminence setting out on a mission which the one master wished and the other wished not ; or the iron lieutenants of Cromwell riding south in the wake of the cavaliers of Charles . For romance , my masters , is no blear-eyed spinster mooning over the trumpery of a heyday that is gone , but a Miss Mischief offering her dainty fingers to you before the kiss of your grandfather 's lips is yet dry on them . The damask petticoat , the powdered wig , and the coquettish little patch by her dimpled little mouth are off and into the garret , and she sweeps by in a Worth gown , or takes a fence on a thoroughbred , or waits ankle deep in the clover blossoms for some whistling lover , while your eyes are yet a-blinking .