“What’d you hit me on the head for?” asked Sneak, after regarding the snakes a moment, and then turning to Joe, the pony having still kept at the heels of the steed in spite of his rider’s efforts to the contrary.
“Oh, Sneak,” cried Joe, in tones somewhat tremulous, “do, for goodness’ sake, let us go away from here!”
“I sha’n’t do any such thing—what’d you hit me on the head for?”
“I thought I was a killing a snake,” replied Joe.
“Do I look like a snake?” continued Sneak, turning round, when for the first time he discovered the condition of his companion’s bridle.
“Sneak, let’s ride away!” said Joe.
“And leave all them black sarpents yander poking out their tongues at us? I won’t go till I wear out this pole on ’em. Ha! ha! ha! I thought you hadn’t spunk enough to gallup through ’em on your own accord,” said Sneak, looking at the pony, and knowing that he would follow the steed always, if left to his own inclination.
“Come, Sneak, let’s go home!” continued Joe, in a supplicating tone.
“Come! let’s charge on the snakes agin!” said Sneak, raising the rod, and fixing his feet in the stirrups.
“Hang me if I go there again!” said Joe, throwing down his rod.