Jube stood now with his hands in his pockets, his hat on the back of his head and all askew, his solemn face intent, watching the action of the mare as Teck led her out into the open space and stood holding her bridle, while she snorted and pawed impatiently, and bowed down her head, and tossed her black mane. She was a very ordinary specimen, good-looking only because she was young, and fat, and strong, and frisky. She had had the best of care, and perhaps made a finer show than the facts warranted. Some of the galled-backed, grass-fed old cattle near her turned their heads to mark her airs, with a sort of slow and surprised disapproval in their meek and jaded eyes. “I hev hearn that sayin’ all my days,—daddy trot, mammy trot, colt _ca-a-n’t_ pace,” the parson’s son reiterated, with a long lingering twang upon the negative declaration. “This filly kin,” stoutly asseverated Teck. “She kin go all the gaits. She kin pace. An’ she kin trot like a fox, an’ run like a deer, an’ walk like a cat on a pallet.” “I’ll bet ye a dollar an’ a half,” said the parson’s son, “ez this hyar hoss-critter o’ mine kin beat her enny gait she’s a mind ter travel. I dare ye put her out now, an’ try her along the road ter the sulphur spring—toler’ble level all the way.” The hoss-critter was a bay, furnished with the usual complement of ribs evidently, and with a tail and mane that seemed sunburned a dull yellow, so unnatural was the color; but he picked up his feet well, he was about sixteen hands high, and according to the mountain estimate of speed he had a speedy look. Teck had put his foot into the stirrup; there was a stir of excitement in the crowd. Half a dozen were backing the little mare, but the sunburned nag had his friends too, and a spirited clamor arose. Upon it Eli Strobe’s bass voice boomed suddenly:— “I warn ye now, hoss-racin’ an’ a-bettin’ on it air agin the law; an’ ef ye boys ondertake ter bet yer money an’ race yer hosses, I’ll ondertake ter arrest ye. I be constable yit.” He had his hands in his pockets, and he strode a few paces to and fro in the crowd, his hat pulled down over his lowering eyes, from which shot now and then a watchful surly side-glance. The young men were arranging to start together from an oak-tree at the farther end of the clearing. They gave no heed to the threat of the constable. An elderly farmer assumed the negative in the discussion:— “Shucks, Eli, ain’t I seen races run yander ter Glaston, an’ ain’t they got a reg’lar race-track thar?”