Finally Shin brought out the beautiful sorrel with the blazed face and the stiff, snake-bitten leg. The animal was painfully lame, and Shin spent an hour with various remedies striving to get some of the rigidity out of the wounded leg.
Colonel Tom Gaitskill sauntered out from his house to the stables, carrying his morning newspaper in his hand.
“Mawnin,’ Kunnel!” Shin exclaimed. “Dis old rattlesnake hoss is shore disencouragin’. It ’pears like his leg ain’t limberin’ up a-tall!”
“Is that so?” Gaitskill asked, slapping at the gnats which flew annoyingly close to his face with the newspaper and making a shrill, rattling sound.
Instantly the horse gave a loud snort, leaped high into the air, broke the halter rope with which he was tied to the post, sprang awkwardly across the lot, and stood in the corner of the fence, looking fearfully around him and blowing the air with a whistling sound through his nostrils.
“What in the name of mud is the matter with that fool?” Gaitskill demanded.
“Dat hoss is done expe’unce a rattlesnake, Marse Tom, an’ dat rattlin’ newspaper skeart him” Shin Bone grinned. “When dat hoss hears somepin rattle he don’t take no time to study—he hikes!”
Shin walked over and led the trembling animal back to the post. Gaitskill said with deep regret:
“My fine horse is ruined, Shin. If he should recover from that stiff leg he would always be unreliable.”
“Dat’s a fack, Marse Tom,” Shin agreed. “Nothin’ cain’t never make no rattlin’ sound aroun’ him. I done expe’unce dat myse’f—he throwed me off two times an’ nigh fractioned my neck.”