"You hear that, don't you, Mr. Fullalove?" remarked the man who had been holding the horses. "It pulled Monk's coat off, and then Gossett just had time to get to the fence to save his neck! Why, it's as natchul as pig-tracks. Every hoss you meet tries to pull your coat off, and you have to run for a fence if you want to save your neck. That's Gossett's idee. If that thing was a hoss, I don't want to see no more hosses. I'll tell you that."
"Well," said Mr. Fullalove, "there are times and occasions-more espeshually occasions, as you may say—when a hoss mought take a notion for to cut up some such rippit as that. You take that black hoss of Colonel Abercrombie's—not a fortnight ago he got out of his pen and ketched a nigger and like to 'a' killed him."
"Maybe it's that same hoss in the field yonder," suggested George Gossett.
"No," replied Mr. Fullalove. "That hoss is penned up so he can't git out of his stable—much less the lot—if so be some un ain't took and gone and turned him out and led him to the field. And if that had 'a' been done you could 'a' heard him squealin' every foot of the way."
"If anybody wants to call the Old Boy a hoss," said the man who had been first attacked, "they are more than welcome."
"Boys," remarked Mr. Fullalove, "if any of you have got the idee that the Old Boy was after you, you'd better stay as fur from this stillhouse as you can, and try to act as if you had souls for to save. What have you done with your hosses?"
"We couldn't tote 'em, and so we had to leave 'em," Gossett answered, making a poor effort to laugh. "What I hate about it is that I took a fool notion and rode pap's horse to-night. He'll be hot as pepper."
"Ain't you going for to make some sorter effort to git your hosses out of the field?" inquired Mr. Fullalove.
"He can have my hoss and welcome," said the man who insisted on the Beelzebub theory.