The Busted Ex-Texan, and Other StoriesMurray, W. H. H. (William Henry Harrison)
General
The Busted Ex-Texan, and Other Stories
Murray, W. H. H. (William Henry Harrison)
Fiction; Short stories; Western stories
But the horse was a knowing old fellow, and had "scored" at too many
races not to know that the "return" was to be leisurely taken, and,
indeed, he was a horse of independence, and of too even, perhaps of too
sluggish, a temperament, to waste himself in needless action; but he
had the right stuff in him, and hadn't forgotten his early training
either, for when he came to the "turn," his head and tail came up, his
eye brightened, and, with a playful movement of his huge body, and
without the least hint from the deacon, he swung himself and the
cumbrous old sleigh into line, and began to straighten himself for the
coming brush.
Now, Jack was, as we have said, a horse of huge proportions, and needed
"steadying" at the start, but the good deacon had no experience with the
"ribbons," and was therefore utterly unskilled in the matter of driving;
and so it came about that old Jack was so confused at the start that he
made a most awkward and wretched appearance in his effort to get off,
being all "mixed up," as the saying is,--so much so that the crowd
roared at his ungainly efforts, and his flying rivals were twenty rods
away before he even got started. But at last he got his huge body in a
straight line, and, leaving his miserable shuffle, squared away to his
work, and, with head and tail up, went off at so slashing a gait that it
fairly took the deacon's breath away, and caused the crowd that had been
hooting him to roar their applause, while the parson grabbed the edge of
the old sleigh with one hand and the rim of his tall black hat with the
other.
What a pity, Mr. Longface, that God made horses as they are, and gave
them such grandeur of appearance when in action, and put such an
eagle-like spirit between their ribs, so that, quitting the plodding
motions of the ox, they can fly like that noble bird, and come sweeping
down the course as on wings of the wind!
It was not my fault, nor the deacon's, nor the parson's either, please
remember, then, that awkward, shuffling, homely-looking old Jack was
thus suddenly transformed, by the royalty of blood, of pride, and of
speed given him by his Creator, from what he ordinarily was, into a
magnificent spectacle of energetic velocity.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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