With a snort of fright the horse sprang forward and ran like a rabbit all around the field, while Shin yelled and wrenched at the bridle, and begged the sorrel to “Whoa!” In a few minutes the sorrel spilled Shin off and ran far back into the woods. It was nearly dark when Shin captured him again and rode back to Tickfall. The long run had made the horse lame. Passing the Hen-Scratch saloon, Shin tried to get a little more speed out of his steed, but the crippled brute merely groaned and limped on. Then right in front of the saloon an accident happened. There was a new picket fence built around the yard of a home across the street from the saloon. A little negro boy ran down the street with a stick in his hand, and as he passed this fence, he laid his stick against the pickets, scraping it along as he ran. A horrible, rattling noise was the result. At the first sound, Shin’s pie-faced sorrel leaped into the air, threw Shin heavily to the ground, and ran snorting with fright toward the Gaitskill home with the speed of a deer. A crowd quickly gathered around the prostrate Shin Bone, and he was picked up and carried into the Hen-Scratch saloon. A few minutes later, after sufficient liquor had been spilled down his throat and over his dusty clothes, Shin opened his eyes and gazed into the yellow, grinning face of Skeeter Butts. “I figgered it wus about time you wus comin’ here so us could divide up, Shin,” Skeeter laughed. “But I’s plum’ sorry you got throwed off.” “I cain’t divide up nothin’,” Shin said sadly. “Of co’se I’ll sottle my owe-bill wid you jes’ as soon as I kin. I done got me a job wid Marse Tom. But I ain’t got nary cent of money now.” “I ’speck you is got mo’ dan you figger on,” Skeeter laughed. “How much does you s’pose you winned on dat race?” “I ain’t winned nothin’,” Shin declared. “Skipper lose.” “Shorely,” Skeeter agreed. “I knowed he wus gwine do dat all along. So I bet yo’ money an’ my money on Doodlebug!” “Bless gracious!” Shin howled, sitting up in the middle of the floor and gazing into the faces of the grinning negroes who stood in a ring about him. “How much did you rake down?” “Yo’ win is one hundred dollars,” Skeeter declared exultantly. “But you owes me fifty an’ I takes dat out of yo’ win.” “Dat’s right,” Shin laughed. “Hand me over dem dollars.” He sat down at the table and counted the money laboriously, his manner becoming more and more elated as the dollars piled up under his hand. Then he slipped the wad into his pocket, and beamed upon the circle of admiring friends. “Good luck done kotch me agin, niggers!” he laughed. Then he slipped behind the bar beside Skeeter, and said: “Skeeter, you hab done me a large amount of great good.” “I don’t deeserve no credick,” Skeeter laughed. “I jes’ happened to know Pap Curtain, an’ besides dat, I done expe’unce dat little Tuckapoo mustang named Doodlebug befo’. I monkeyed wid dat pony one time, an’ Skeeter wus a well skint sucker.”