"'Now, pony,' he says to Hamilton, 'don't start nothin' you can't finish.'
"The trip kills a ordinary hoss, but they ain't nothin' ordinary about this Hamilton. I learns that then. We cools him out good 'n' in three days he's kickin' the roof off the stall.
"Come work-out day Micky goes up on Hamilton. Say, the colt eats out of his hand. Micky's got him buffaloed right. He gallops Hamilton a nice mile 'n' pulls up at the gate.
"'What do you want him to do now? Stand on his head?' he says. 'Times is dull.'
"'Shoot him three furlongs,' I says.
"'Shoot is the word,' says Micky.
"Hamilton romps the three furlongs in nothin' flat—I'm tickled sick.
"'He's a bear!' I says to Micky at the stalls. ''N' as fur you—you're on the pay-roll.'
"'Why, you're a live one, ain't you?' says Micky. 'Wait till I go chase the Smoke!' The next thing I see is Snowball goin' down the line like a quarter hoss, 'n' Micky's proddin' at him with a pitchfork.
"'He won't be back,' says Micky, when he's puttin' up the fork.