Thomson wore the physique of a typical Southerner. People learning his English ancestry were surprised and somewhat doubtful as they noted his sharp profile, thin lips, curved nose and hollow cheeks. His moustache and hair, coal black in color, increased the doubt.
As we have said, there was no greater scoundrel in Missouri than Bill Thomson. Men declared there was “a heap in him. Other bad ones were jes’ onery scamps; but Bill had a head on him.”
He it was who was organizing and drilling numbers of companies of men, in case the d——d Yankees proved unruly, to burn and loot the infant territory and carry it into the slave-holding lines by fire and fraud.
Into this man’s hands Judah was given body and soul.
CHAPTER V.
Judah’s first experience of slave discipline happened in this wise: A man in Kansas City had foolishly paid five hundred dollars for a showy horse, not worth half the amount, a perfect demon whom nobody dared venture near. The purchaser was about to shoot the vicious beast, when Bill Thomson happened along, and offered five hundred even odds that he would take the animal to Magnolia Farm and break him to saddle and bridle in ten days, Thomson being of the opinion that no one knew as much about a horse or a mule as he did, and priding himself on his success with animals.
He soon found that the horse was more than he had bargained for. The beast couldn’t be cajoled or coaxed—not a man daring to go near him or within reach of his head. In order to get him to the farm he was starved and drugged.
“Well, boys, I reckon it ain’t no use; the ugly beast’s beat me, and I lose the bet,” said Thomson to the little group of men gathered at a gate of the enclosure, the next morning after the animal arrived at the farm. It was a rough group made up of gamblers and sporting men, who had heard of the bet and came to Magnolia Farm to witness the battle between the horse-dealer and horse.
“Yes, I’m licked. He’s a reg’lar fiend that hoss is. I’m a done coon this day, an’ the hoss will have to be shot. I invite you all to stop to the shootin’ party.”
“Never know’d you to git beat befo’, Bill,” remarked one, striking the haft of his bowie knife; “an’ to lose five hundred dollars slick off, too; sho!”