CHAPTER XVII.
IN THE FLOOD OF 1811.
In 1811 Samuel Stone bought the little horse and changed his name back to Morgan. Once more he went to live in Randolph, which had been the scene of his early triumphs.
There had been many changes in the town, and nearly all his old friends had moved away or outgrown their interest in tests of strength and speed. Only one of them was left, James Kelsey, and he, being fond of horses, often rode Morgan from place to place for Stone.
Kelsey was called the village “cut-up,” though he was no longer a boy, but he had a kind heart and was the friend of every one. Sometimes he rode the Morgan alongside the stage-coaches and thrilled the passengers with stories of pioneer times; of bears, and Indians.
One day, as they were nearing Tunbridge, Kelsey told them of the burning of that place by three hundred Indians, who swept down from the north under the command of a British soldier, Lieutenant Horton.
This reference to the British reminded Morgan of his old enemy, the Tory boy, whose dog had killed Black Baby. The boy must now have reached man’s estate, and Morgan wondered if he would recognize him if he saw him, and if Allah was planning an opportunity for him to give his promised kick. In all these years he had never forgotten his vow.
Kelsey was a very skillful rider, and could do wonderful things from a horse’s back, which Morgan enjoyed, for it showed off his smooth and easy gaits. Sometimes, after slipping off his heavy boots and tying them to his stirrup, he would spring to his feet on the horse’s back, and stand balancing himself while Morgan glided evenly along under him; or, riding hard, he would stoop and pick up a stone or stick; or, if there chanced to be a pretty flower beside the road, he would set the horse running and lean swiftly down, pluck the flower, and wait for the coach to catch up, that he might hand it to some lady passenger, with a bow and sweep of his hat.
One of his anecdotes, which always brought a laugh from the passengers—especially if they were from New York—was how the tract of land, now known as Vermont, was granted to Dominie Dillius, of Albany, in 1696, for the “annuall rente of one racoon skinne.”
“The New York legislature,” Kelsey always finished, “later called this ‘rente’ excessive!”