"
Shall I ever forget the look on Dad's face! He brandished the scraper and
sprang wildly at Joe and yelled, "Damn y', you WHELP! what do you want
here?"
Joe left. The horse lay in the furrow. Blood was dropping from its
mouth. Dave pointed it out, and Dad opened the brute's jaws and examined
them. No teeth were there. He looked on the ground round about--none
there either. He looked at the horse's mouth again, then hit him
viciously with his clenched fist and said, "The old ----, he never DID
have any!" At length he unharnessed the brute as it lay--pulled the
winkers off, hurled them at its head, kicked it once--twice--three
times--and the furrow-horse jumped up, trotted away triumphantly, and
joyously rolled in the dam where all our water came from, drinking-water
included.
Dad went straightaway to Smith's place, and told Smith he was a dirty,
mean, despicable swindler--or something like that. Smith smiled. Dad put
one leg through the slip-rails and promised Smith, if he'd only come along,
to split palings out of him. But Smith did n't. The instinct of
self-preservation must have been deep in that man Smith. Then Dad went
home and said he would shoot the ---- horse there and then, and went
looking for the gun.
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