But Jack knew his man, and he would as soon have thought of throwing a
handful of dust into his face. "Jest as you like, suh, jest as you like,"
he returned easily, and went on smoking.
Dan sat down in a chair upon the porch, and taking out his knife began idly
whittling at the end of a stick. A small boy, in blue jean breeches,
watched him eagerly from the steps, and he spoke to him pleasantly while he
cut into the wood.
"Did you ever see a horse's head on a cane, sonny?"
The child sucked his dirty thumb and edged nearer.
"Naw, suh, but I've seen a dawg's," he answered, drawing out his thumb like
a stopper and sticking it in again.
"Well, you watch this and you'll see a horse's. There, now don't take your
eyes away."
He whittled silently for a time, then as he looked up his glance fell on
the stagecoach in the yard, and he turned from it to Jack Hicks.
"There's one thing on earth I know about, Jack," he said, "and that's a
horse."
"Not a better jedge in the county, suh," was Jack's response.
As Dan whittled a flush rose to his face. "Does Tom Hyden still drive the
Hopeville stage?" he asked.
"Well, you see it's this way," answered Jack, weighing his words. "Tom he's
a first-rate hand at horses, but he drinks like a fish, and last week he
married a wife who owns a house an' farm up the road. So long as he had to
earn his own livin' he kept sober long enough to run the stage, but since
he's gone and married, he says thar's no call fur him to keep a level
head--so he don't keep it.
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