Puddock went a-courtin’ and he did ride, like a shot across the plains, Miss Mouse thrown across the back of his horse, Uncle Rat’s gold jangling in his pocket. He dug in heels splashed with would-be suitors’ blood, urging the flagging beast on. The sun would soon dip below the horizon, and that night was his wedding night. He rode hard through rain and mud, didn’t stop till he reached The Slop Bucket in Hollow Tree. His poor horse dropped dead the second he dismounted.