“Soon you’ll be big enough and you’ll be able to. You sit there and watch how it’s done.”
Suddenly Pinkie became the most beautiful horse in the world, the wind blew stronger,
and the scraggy grasses in the ditch became vast, lush plains.
My cowboy outfit was festooned with gold. A sheriff’s star flashed on my chest.
“Let’s go, little horse, go. Run, run...” Thubalup-thubalup-thubalup!
I was back with Tom Mix and Fred Thompson. Buck Jones hadn’t wanted to come this time and Richard Talmadge was working on another film.
Go, go, little horse. Run, run. Here come our Apache friends churning up dust as they ride.
Thubalup-thubalup-thubalup! The Indians’ horses were making a racket.
Run, run, little horse, the plains are full of bison and buffalo. Let’s shoot, folks. Bang, bang, bang! Pow, pow, pow!
“Phwoo, Phwoo, Phwoo!” whistled the arrows. The wind, the speed, the wild gallop, the clouds of dust and Luís’s voice almost shouting.
“Zezé! Zezé!” I slowly reined in my horse and jumped down, flushed from the ride.
What’s the matter? Did a buffalo come your way?” “No. Let’s play something else. There are lots of Indians and I’m scared.
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