Trotwood's Monthly, Vol. II, No. 2, May, 1906Various
History
Trotwood's Monthly, Vol. II, No. 2, May, 1906
Various
Agriculture -- Southern States -- Periodicals; Horses -- Periodicals; Southern States -- Periodicals
“Wal, boss, dat all look mighty conniv’rous ter me, an’ es I had been all
my life a-totin’ de burdens ob de white man, it ’peered mighty nachul
to keep it up. So I got down on my all-fo’s, de Kunnel he mounted me,
an’ I started up de pike in a jog trot. But I hadn’t gone fur befo’ de
ole Kunnel punch me in de side wid his heels, yanked my mouf nearly off
wid de gallus bridle an’ de shoestring bit he fixed up fur me befo’ he
started, an’ yelled out:
“‘Change dat gait, you ole fool, do you think I would ride into heab’n on
a trottin’ hoss when I c’u’d ride a easy pacer?’
“I seed de pint, an’ shifted.
“‘Ah, dat’s better,’ sez he, ‘an mo’ restful.’
“At de gate Marse Peter stop us, an’ say: ‘Am you ridin’ or walkin’ suh?’
“‘Ridin’ dis time, yo’ Honoh,’ sey de Kunnel.
“‘Good,’ sez Peter, a-glancin’ at me, ‘but I don’t like de looks ob dat
swayback scrub you’re ridin’, so I’ll jes’ let you hitch ’im to de fence,
but you kin walk in!’
“An’ de ole Kunnel, he hitch me to de fence sho’ ’nuff, an’ walked in
widout battin’ his eye or sayin’ much obleeged, an’ dar I wus champin’
a shoestring bit, tied to de fence ob heab’n, wid a gallus line, an’
dodgin’ a hoss-fly es big as a turkey gobbler dat wus buzzin’ aroun’ over
de bluff nigh-by.
“Peter look at me a long time, sorter smilin’ an’ sorter mad, an den he
sez: ‘Thort you’d fool me, did you? Wal, for dis decepshun, I’ll turn you
into a sho’ nuff hoss,’ and befo’ I c’u’d say scat, boss, I wus a black
Hal pacer, wid two white feet, a star, snip, black mane and tail, so
help me Gord, an’ dat ’ar hoss-fly es big es a turkey was buzzin’ aroun’
tryin’ to bore a hole in me.
“Gimme anurver dram, boss.”
I thought he was entitled to it.
“But dat wa’n’t all. F’um dat day on dey didn’t do nuffin’ but use me on
dat road, carryin’ folks up to de gate, but nurver gittin’ in myse’f.
An’ dey wucked me ’twell I almos’ drapped dead ag’in. An’ I carried Jews
an’ Turks an’ Chinese, an’ eb’ry kind o’ man dat urver libbed, ’twell de
golden pike wus a pile ob brass, an’ de sun was a furnace ob fiah, an’ me
de hoss, a-doin’ all de totin’.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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