Satchel, the idiot of shallow streams. He crossed the Rio Bravo two times and found himself in a private grove of pecan trees. The winds were just beginning to lift up a haze of dust which filtered light in a heavenly way and he ran through strands of sun and shadow sparking his imagination of a game to play. He remarked that this grove was like a forest and he pretended to be a feudal prince of italian descent pictured in oils with the christ child and saints searching out a despotic king to lance. He is a playful idiot.
When he retold this story to a lady he had met, she dismissed his lack of wit and quick turned her cigarette round the table to an attractive alternative fellow to chat and sip her drink with.