Phil followed to where the sleek, black animal was securely tied to a hitching post. Phil had heard of this particular horse of Brenchfield’s. She was the fastest piece of horseflesh in the Valley. She was a beauty, but as vicious with her teeth as she was treacherous with her feet. She had the eye of a devil. No one had been found who could ride her save Brenchfield and no one could groom her but her owner. Several had tried; one 94 had been killed outright, one lamed permanently and others gave up before they were compelled to.
“So this is Beelzebub?” asked Phil.
“Yes!”
“Guess you had better bring her back to-morrow when Hanson is here.”
“Can’t you shoe a horse?”
“Some horses!”
Brenchfield laughed sarcastically.
“Tie her up in the frame then,” said Phil, “and I’ll do it. Hanson told me she always has to be shod in that way.”
Brenchfield laughed again.
“A bright blacksmith you are!” he grunted.