"Br'er Tilghman," answered back Tallow Dick solemnly, "you done said it—de mule is been pampered!"
The sufferer stirred and blinked and sat up dizzily.
"Uh-huh," he assented. "An' jes' ez soon ez I gits some of my strength back ag'in, an' some mo' clothes on, I'm gwine tek de longes', sharpes' pitchfork dey is in dis yere stable an' I'm gwine pamper dat devilish mule wid it fur 'bout three-quarters of an hour stiddy."
But he didn't. If he really cherished any such disciplinary designs he abandoned them next morning at sunup, when, limping slightly, he propped open the stable doors preparatory to invading its interior. The white demon, which appeared to have the facility of snapping his bonds whenever so inclined, came sliding out of the darkness toward him, a malignant and menacing apparition, with a glow of animosity in two deep-set eyes and with a pair of prehensile lips curled back to display more teeth than by rights an alligator should have. It was immediately evident to Red Hoss that in the Frank mule's mind a deep-seated aversion for him had been engendered. He had the feeling that potential ill health lurked in that neighborhood; that death and destruction, riding on a pale mule, might canter up at any moment. Personally, he decided to let bygones be bygones. He dropped the grudge as he tumbled backward through the stable doors and slammed them behind him. That same day he went to Mr. Ham Givens and announced his intention of immediately breaking off his present associations with the firm.
"Me, I is done quit foolin' wid ole ice waggins," he announced airily after Mr. Givens had given him his time. "Hit seems lak my gift is fur machinery."
"A pusson which wuz keerful wouldn't trust you wid a shoe buttoner—dat's how high I reguards yore gift fur machinery," commented Bill Tilghman acidly. Red Hoss chose to ignore the slur. Anyhow, at the moment he could put his tongue to no appropriate sentence of counter repartee. He continued as though there had been no interruption:
"Yassuh, de nex' time you two pore ole foot-an'-mouth teamsters sees me I'll come tearin' by yere settin' up on de boiler deck of a taxiscab. You better step lively to git out of de way fur me den."
"I 'lows to do so," assented Bill. "I ain't aimin' to git shot wid no stray bullets."
"How come stray bullets?"
"Anytime I sees you runnin' a taxiscab I'll know by dat sign alone dat de sheriff an' de man which owns de taxiscab will be right behine you—da's whut I means."