farm. But he was not. Firstly, there are no such officials on
Michigan peach-farms; secondly, Lafe would not have filled the position
had such existed. Lafe, you see, did not really belong. He was an
interloper, a waif who had drifted in from nowhere in particular, and
who, because of a willingness to do a man's work for no wages at all,
was allowed a place at table and a bunk over the wagon-shed. Farmer
Perkins, more jealous of his reputation for shrewdness than of his
soul's salvation, would point to Lafe and say, knowingly:

"He's a bad one, that boy is; look at them eyes." And surely, if Lafe's
soul-windows mirrored the color of his mental state, he was indeed in a
bad way.

In like manner Farmer Perkins judged old Kate's unhandsome colt.

"Look at them ears," he said, really looking at the unsightly
nose-blaze. "We'll have a circus when it comes to breakin' that
critter."

Sure enough, it _was_ more or less of a circus. Perhaps the colt was at
fault, perhaps he was not. Olsen, a sullen-faced Swede farm-hand, whose
youth had been spent in a North Sea herring-boat, and whose disposition
had been matured by sundry second mates on tramp steamers, was the
appropriate person selected for introducing Blue Blazes to the uses of a
halter.

Judging all humans by the standard established by the mild-mannered
Lafe, the colt allowed himself to be caught after small effort. But when
the son of old Kate first felt a halter he threw up his head in alarm.
Abruptly and violently his head was jerked down. Blue Blazes was
surprised, hurt, angered. Something was bearing hard on his nose; there
was something about his throat that choked.

Had he, then, been deceived? Here he was, wickedly and maliciously
trapped. He jerked and slatted his head some more. This made matters
worse. He was cuffed and choked. Next he tried rearing. His head was
pulled savagely down, and at this point Olsen began beating him with
the slack of the halter rope.

Ah, now Blue Blazes understood! They got your head and neck into that
arrangement of straps and rope that they might beat you. Wild with fear
he plunged desperately to right and left. Blindly he reared, pawing the
air. Just as one of his hoofs struck Olsen's arm a buckle broke. The
colt felt the nose-strap slide off. He was free.

A marvellous tale of fierce encounter with a devil-possessed colt did
Olsen carry back to the farm-house. In proof he showed a broken halter,
rope-blistered hands, a