The rest sat their horses loosely and looked at him With mild curiosity, ruminating tobacco. Ellyat tried to think. He could not think. He was free, These stuffless men on stuffless horses had freed him From dryads and fathers, from cheesecloth veils and Melora. He began to talk fast. He didn’t hear what he said. “But I’ve got to get back,” he said. Then he stopped. They laughed. “Oh, yuh’ll get over it, Bub,” said the wrinkled boy, “It ain’t so bad. You won’t have to fight no more. Maybe yuh’ll git exchanged. Git up on that horse. No, take off them boots first, thanks.” He slung the boots Around his neck. “Now I got some good boots,” he said. And grinned at the gaunt man with the sour mouth. “Now, Bub, I’ll just tie yuh a little with this yere rope And then you won’t be bustin’ loose from the gang. Grab the pommel as well as yuh kin.” The gaunt man coughed. “I tell you,” he said, in a disappointed voice,