"I cannot go out alone with that colt. I must have Gibbie at hand, and the only way to take him is to rig up such a seat, and I trust to your cleverness and skill to do it."
I got a very strong chair of white oak and had him saw off the back. "Now this is what I want you to use, and I want you to put it here," I said. Then I left him.
December 30.
This morning when I went to look at the progress of the little shelf behind the road cart, I found Bonaparte working with enthusiasm. The idea had suddenly taken him, but Gibbie was looking on with a face of woe, muttering steadily "risk my life—got wife and chillun—brek me neck"-I could only hear a word here and there.
"Gibbie," I said, "how many times were you thrown out of the road cart when Jim and you went with Marietta?"
"Only fo' time."
"Where did you sit?"
"Jim en me set on de seat; each one had a fut on de step so we could jump quick."
"Did Jim jump out?"
"Jim jump out 'eself ebery time we meet buggy, dat colt wunt pass a buggy, en de las' wud Jim say to me was, 'Fo' King sake Gib neber let um meet a w'ite hoss, kase 'e'll bruk up eberyt'ing.'"