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A sale of fiery wild ponies, which manage to escape their corral after they are sold, introduce Flem Snopes, the man behind the sale, to the town of Frenchman's Bend.
any way to talk about them hosses? Look at ’em, and tell me if this country ever seen a better collection of livestock at dirt cheap prices. Hey, Grampaw,”—he bent and shouted hoarsely at a bearded ancient with a gutta-percha ear-trumpet coiled like an inert serpent about his neck—“tell ’em if you ever seen a better looking bunch of stock at public arction in this town?” A bystander attracted the ancient’s attention, and he uncoiled his black tube with deliberation and inserted one end into his
box and Buck, still watching Henry with grave detachment, ripped the end from the box and shook five or six of the cakes into his hand and gave them to Admiral Dewey. “Much obliged, bud.” A stillness had fallen upon the group, upon its easy unchanged attitudes. Henry stood again with his head bowed a little in an isolation of impotence. Then he raised his head. “Who’ll he’p me ketch my hoss?” he asked in a dry light voice. None moved. The sun hung without heat in the western sky, the lower part
“Bring that there plow-line over yere.” The man raised his voice a little, and the woman descended obediently from the wagon and reached a new coiled cotton rope out of it and came to her husband. The man took the rope from her and shouldered himself toward the gate, without raising his head. Buck was in his path and the man went around him and Buck watched the man with his quiet detached stare. “Come on yere,” the man said gruffly, and the woman moved again and followed. “Dont go in there,
that the idea for the Snopeses, and their book, had been his, and that he had given it to Faulkner after Mosquitoes (his second novel, published in April 1927) was written but before the writing of Sartoris. ‘The core of the Snopes legend,’ explained Stone, was ‘that the real revolution in the South was not the race situation but the rise of the redneck, who did not have any of the scruples of the old aristocracy, to places of power and wealth.’ And he recalled that ‘Bill once wrote fifteen or
huddled like gaudy ghosts in the remote gloom, passive and watchful. Then one by one they grew quieter and lowered their heads and nuzzled and sniffed into a long feeding trough worn silken smooth by generations of prehensile lips, that was attached to the rear wall. Buck reappeared in the door to the feed room. “I cant find nothing but shell corn,” he said. “Aint they got no year corn, you reckon?” “I reckon not,” Eck said after a while. “Boatner dont usually use no year corn. Wont they eat