d the hoss lying down.
He'd get up and go about a little whenever we'd prod 'im, but he'd lie
down whenever our backs was turned."

"I've seen hosses like that," Cahews remarked, "and they might as well
be shot."

"That's exactly what Pa decided to do, after two weeks' nursing and
cajoling," Henley laughed. "He come in to the breakfast-table one
morning with his rifle in his clutch, a sort of resigned look in his
eyes.

"'What are you going to do, Pa?' I asked him.

"'Why, I see that danged thing has got on one of his lively spells,' he
said, 'and I'm going to shoot him while he's at his best. If there is
any hoss-heaven, he'd make a better appearance like he is now than at
any other time. I've had my fill. The sight of that hoss peeping out
betwixt the bars every day at meal-time and lying on a bed of ease the
rest of the day is driving me crazy. He'll be on his way in a few
minutes if I can shoot straight.'

"'No, don't kill 'im,' I said, my trading blood up. 'Let me ride 'im to
town while he's lively and maybe I can git rid of him. I might get a few
dollars for his hide, and that would be better than having to dig a hole
to put 'im in.'

"'No, don't kill 'im here,' Ma said, for she had a tender heart--God
bless her memory--and so the old man hung his gun up on the rack and
went to eating, almost too mad to swallow. Well, after the meal was over
I saddled the hoss and rid into town at a purty lively gait. It was
really astonishing what a decent trot the thing could take at times. You
see, I'd heard that Tobe Wilks, a big hardware man at Carlton, who had a
plantation in the country, was looking for a hoss, and I thought I'd see
what he'd say to mine. I was jest a boy, but I'd hung around
hoss-swappers enough to know that it never was a good idea to be the
first to propose a trade, and so I hitched at the post in front of
Wilks's store and went in. I bought a pound of tenpenny nails, that I
thought would come in handy in patching fences at home, and while the
clerk was weighing 'em up I saw Tobe leave his chair behind a counter
and go out and walk around the hoss. Finally he come to me and said,
said he:

"'Alf, does your Pa want to sell that stack of bones out there?'

"'He don't,' says I, 'fer the hoss is mine; he gave 'im to me.'

"'Oh, that's it!' said Wilks; 'well, do _you_ want to sell him?'

"'Well, I ain't itchin' fer a trade,' I says, and I paid no more
attention to Wilks, pretending to be looking