He slowed up and blowed his whistle.
I hoed her down harder’n ever.
“You’re a-skeerin’ my hoss,” I yells back.
“Pull t’ one side,” he answers. “I want to git by.”
But Maud wouldn’t pull. And everywheres Simpson was, she was just in front, actin’ as if she was scairt plumb outen her seven senses. The worse she acted, a-course, the madder I got! Fin’lly, just as Mister Doc was managin’ to pass, I got turrible mad, and, cussin’ blue blazes, I took out my forty-five and let her fly.
One of them hind tires popped like the evenin’ gun at Fort Wingate. Same minute, that hidebound rig-a-ma-jig took a shy and come nigh buttin’ her fool nose agin a fence-post. But Simpson, he geed her quick and started on. I put a hole in the other hind tire. She shied again–opp’site direction–snortin’ like she was wind-broke. He hawed her back. Then he went a-kitin’ on, leavin’ me a-eatin’ his dust.
But I wasn’t done with him, no, ma’am.
Right there the road make a kinda horse-shoe turn–like this, y’ savvy–to git ’round a fence corner. I’d cal’lated on that. I just give Maud a lick ’longside the haid, jumped her over the fence, quirted her a-flyin’ acrosst that bend, took the other fence, and landed about a hunderd feet in front of him.
When he seen me through his goggles, he come on full-steam. I set Maud a-runnin’ the same direction–and took up my little rope.
About two shakes of a lamb’s tail, and it happened. He got nose and nose with me. I throwed, ketchin’ him low–’round his chest and arms. Maud come short.