He soon found that the horse was more than he had bargained for. The beast couldn’t be cajoled or coaxed--not a man daring to go near him or within reach of his head. In order to get him to the farm he was starved and drugged. “Well, boys, I reckon it ain’t no use; the ugly beast’s beat me, and I lose the bet,” said Thomson to the little group of men gathered at a gate of the enclosure, the next morning after the animal arrived at the farm. It was a rough group made up of gamblers and sporting men, who had heard of the bet and came to Magnolia Farm to witness the battle between the horse-dealer and horse. “Yes, I’m licked. He’s a reg’lar fiend that hoss is. I’m a done coon this day, an’ the hoss will have to be shot. I invite you all to stop to the shootin’ party.” “Never know’d you to git beat befo’, Bill,” remarked one, striking the haft of his bowie knife; “an’ to lose five hundred dollars slick off, too; sho!” “My mettles up, boys. If I can’t break the hoss in, no one can; that’s true, ain’t it?” “For sartin’ sure!” came from the crowd. “What’s the good of lettin’ a vicious brute like that live?” and Thomson ended with a volley of oaths. “Bill’s plum wil’,” said one of the crowd. “’Nough to make him, I reckon,” returned the first speaker. “Bill allers did swear worse’n a steamboat cap’n. The Foul Fiend himself would be swearin’ to be beat by that tearin’ four-legged....” The group waited breathlessly for Thomson’s next move as he stood gazing toward the refractory beast. Just at this moment Judah came up and touched his hat respectfully to the group of men. “Don’t shoot him yet, sir; I can tame that horse and win your bet for you,” he said to Thomson. It would be difficult to describe the effect produced on the group by those few cool, daring words--a breathless pause, each looking at the other in incredulous amazement; then a murmur of admiration for the speaker went from man to man, Thomson himself, who had recoiled from the boy, staring in open-eyed wonder at his cool assertion. “You go near the beast! What do you know about breaking hosses? He’d throw you and kill you or trample you to death, an’ I’d be just fifteen hundred dollars more out of pocket by the onery brute.” It was a picture for an artist,--the Negro passively waiting the verdict of his master, his massive head uncovered in humility. There was not among them all so noble a figure of a man, as he stood in a somewhat theatrical attitude--a living statue of a mighty Vulcan. Into the group Colonel Titus walked with a commanding gesture. “Let him try, Thomson, for the honor of the farm. I believe he can do it. I’ll stand the loss if there is any.”