“I can’t rightly say that I have a hoss just now. But I know where I can put my hand upon one within five hours.” “Steal him?” “You say that again, and I’ll drive your long legs four feet into the ground,” cried Boston, turning upon the Dutchman in sudden wrath. “Hark ye, sir. I am a plain man, and I speak plain language. In the way of trade I’ll get as much out of a man for as little in return, as any man in the five colonies. But, I won’t take ‘thief’ from any man. So look out.” Ten Eyck almost fell from his horse in fear, and hastened to disclaim any personal allusion in his question. “All right. Now I’ll answer your question. This hoss is where I can get him easily. All you have got to do is to ride home, and come again about five this evening to Paul Swedlepipe’s. You can see the hoss there.” Turning up his nose at Paul Swedlepipe, and applying his heels to the sides of the remarkable courser he bestrode, Ten Eyck rode away, bobbing up and down in his saddle like a dancing-Jack. “Now, Paul,” said Boston, “I want your help. Where is this hoss I sold you the other day?” “Out in de bush.” “Send for him.” “What you want of him?” “Never you mind; he is mine, and I want him. And mind, I also want the teeth and tail I sold with him. Them I must have.” Paul called to one of his boys, and sent him after the horse, while he himself produced the tail and teeth which he had carefully preserved. The boy returned in about an hour, during which Paul and the hawker imbibed large quantities of apple-jack, not strong enough, however, to unsettle their ideas. When the boy appeared, Boston took the bridle of the horse, and led him away, closely followed by Swedlepipe. Reaching an open glade in the forest, the peddler stopped, and tethered the horse to a swaying limb. He then took from his pack a keen lancet, with which he made a small incision in the skin under the shoulder of the beast. In this slit he inserted a quill, and begun to blow. Those accustomed to the management of a horse know the effect of this. In a few moments Paul, who stood looking on in open-mouthed wonder, did not know the horse, who seemed to grow fat under the hands of the skillful jockey. After he had blown the animal up to a wholesome plumpness, Boston nicely and tightly sewed up the small incision. Then taking from his pack a small vial, he filled a large gourd which he had brought from the house with water from the spring, and poured into it the contents of the vial. The water at once assumed a greenish hue. With this mixture he now washed the horse thoroughly in every part, keeping him carefully in the shade. This done, he led him out into the sunlight, and, to the intense astonishment of Paul Swedlepipe, by some chemical action of the sun upon the mixture, the horse changed at once from a dirty white to a delicate shade of brown. Raising his hands upward, as if calling witnesses to his astonishment, the Dutchman cried: “Der tuyvel is upon earth. You ish der tuyvel!”