"There's no way o' workin' that doesn't mean goin' to pole er single—they never put me in the Power–machine—er under saddle," said Rick.
"Oh, shucks! We're talkin' same ez we graze," said Nip, "raound an' raound in circles. Rod, we hain't heard from you yet, an' you've more know–how than any span here."
Rod, the off–horse of the pair, had been standing with one hip lifted, like a tired cow; and you could only tell by the quick flutter of the haw across his eye, from time to time, that he was paying any attention to the argument. He thrust his jaw out sidewise, as his habit is when he pulls, and changed his leg. His voice was hard and heavy, and his ears were close to his big, plain Hambletonian head.
"How old are you?" he said to the yellow horse.
"Nigh thirteen, I guess."
"Mean age; ugly age; I'm gettin' that way myself. How long hev ye been pawin' this firefanged stable–litter?"
"If you mean my principles, I've held 'em sence I was three."
"Mean age; ugly age; teeth give heaps o' trouble then. 'Set a colt to actin' crazy fer a while. You've kep' it up, seemin'ly. D'ye talk much to your neighbours fer a steady thing?"
"I uphold the principles o' the Cause wherever I am pastured."
"'Done a heap o' good, I guess?"
"I am proud to say I have taught a few of my companions the principles o' freedom an' liberty."
"Meanin' they ran away er kicked when they got the chanst?"
"I was talkin' in the abstrac', an' not in the concrete. My teachin's educated them."
"What a horse, specially a young horse, hears in the abstrac', he's liable to do in the Concord. You was handled late, I presoom."
"Four, risin' five."
"That's where the trouble began. Driv' by a woman, like ez not—eh?"
"Not fer long," said the yellow horse, with a snap of his teeth.
"Spilled her?"
"I heerd she never drove again."
"Any childern?"
"Buckboards full of 'em."
"Men too?"
"I have shed conside'ble men in my time."
"By kickin'?"
"Any way that come along. Fallin' back over the dash is as handy as most."
"They must be turr'ble afraid o' you daown taown?"
"They've sent me here to get rid o' me. I guess they spend their time talkin' over my campaigns."
"I wanter know!"
"Yes, sir. Now, all you gentlemen have asked me what I can do. I'll just show you. See them two fellers lyin' down by the buggy?"
"Yep; one of 'em owns me. T'other broke me," said Rod.
"Get 'em out here in the open, an' I'll show you something. Lemme hide back o' you peoples, so's they won't see what I'm at."
"Meanin' ter kill 'em?" Rod drawled. There was a shudder of horror through the others; but the yellow horse never noticed.
"I'll catch 'em by the back o' the neck, an' pile–drive 'em a piece. They can suit 'emselves about livin' when I'm through with 'em."
"'Shouldn't wonder ef they did," said Rod. The yellow horse had hidden himself very cleverly behind the others as they stood in a group, and was swaying his head close to the ground with a curious scythe–like motion, looking side–wise out of his wicked eyes. You can never mistake a man–eater getting ready to knock a man down. We had had one to pasture the year before.
"See that?" said my companion, turning over on the pine–needles. "Nice for a woman walking 'cross lots, wouldn't it be?"
"Bring 'em out!" said the yellow horse, hunching his sharp back. "There's no chance among them tall trees. Bring out the—oh! Ouch!"
It was a right–and–left kick from Muldoon. I had no idea that the old car–horse could lift so quickly. Both blows caught the yellow horse full and fair in the ribs, and knocked the breath out of him.
"What's that for?" he said angrily, when he recovered himself; but I noticed he did not draw any nearer to Muldoon than was necessary.
Muldoon never answered, but discoursed to himself in the whining grunt that he uses when he is going down–hill in front of a heavy load. We call it singing; but I think it's something much worse, really. The yellow horse blustered and squealed a little, and at last said that, if it was a horse–fly that had stung Muldoon, he would accept an apology.
"You'll get it," said Muldoon, "in de sweet by–and–bye—all de apology you've any use for. Excuse me interruptin' you, Mr. Rod, but I'm like Tweezy—I've a Southern drawback in me hind legs."
"Naow, I want you all here to take notice, an' you'll learn something," Rod went on. "This yaller–backed skate comes to our pastur'–"
"Not havin' paid his board," put in Tedda.
"Not havin' earned his board, an' talks smooth to us abaout ripplin' brooks an' wavin' grass, an' his high–toned, pure–souled horsehood, which don't hender him sheddin' women an' childern, an' fallin' over the dash onter men. You heard his talk, an' you thought it mighty fine, some o' you."
Tuck looked guilty here, but she did not say anything.
"Bit by bit he goes on ez you have heard."
"I was talkin' in the abstrac'," said the yellow horse, in an altered voice.
"Abstrac' be switched! Ez I've said, it's this yer blamed abstrac' business that makes the young uns cut up in the Concord; an' abstrac' or no abstrac', he crep' on an' on till he come to killin' plain an' straight—killin' them as never done him no harm, jest beca'se they owned horses."
"An' knowed how to manage 'em," said Tedda. "That makes it worse."
"Waal, he didn't kill 'em, anyway," said Marcus. "He'd ha' been half killed ef he had tried."
"'Makes no differ," Rod answered. "He meant to; an' ef he hadn't—s'pose we want the Back Pasture turned into a biffin'–ground on our only day er rest? 'S'pose we want our men walkin' round with bits er lead pipe an' a twitch, an' their hands full o' stones to throw at us, same's if we wuz hogs er hooky keows? More'n that, leavin' out Tedda here—an' I guess it's more her maouth than her manners stands in her light—there ain't a horse on this farm that ain't a woman's horse, an' proud of it. An' this yer bogspavined Kansas sunflower goes up an' daown the length o' the country, traded off an' traded on, boastin' as he's shed women—an' childern. I don't say as a woman in a buggy ain't a fool. I don't say as she ain't the lastin'est kind er fool, ner I don't say a child ain't worse—spattin' the lines an' standin' up an' hollerin'—but I do say, 'tain't none of our business to shed 'em daown the road."
"We don't," said the Deacon. "The baby tried to git some o' my tail for a sooveneer last fall when I was up to the haouse, an' I didn't kick. Boney's talk ain't goin' to hurt us any. We ain't colts."
"Thet's what you think Bimeby you git into a tight corner, 'Lection day er Valley Fair, like's not, daown–taown, when you're all het an' lathery, an' pestered with flies, an' thirsty, an' sick o' bein' worked in an aout 'tween buggies. Then somethin' whispers inside o' your winkers, bringin' up all that talk abaout servitood an' inalienable truck an' sech like, an' jest then a Militia gun goes off; er your wheels hit, an'—waal, you're only another horse ez can't be trusted. I've been there time an' again. Boys—fer I've seen you all bought er broke—on my solemn repitation fer a three–minute clip, I ain't givin' you no bran–mash o' my own fixin'. I'm tellin' you my experiences, an' I've had ez heavy a load an' ez high a check's any horse here. I wuz born with a splint on my near fore ez big's a walnut, an' the cussed, three–cornered Hambletonian temper that sours up an' curdles daown ez you git older. I've favoured my splint; even little Rick he don't know what it's cost me to keep my end up sometimes; an' I've fit my temper in stall an' harness, hitched up an' at pasture, till the sweat trickled off my hooves, an' they thought I wuz off condition, an' drenched me."
"When my affliction came," said Tweezy, gently, "I was very near to losin' my manners. Allow me to extend to you my sympathy, suh."