“Sais he, ‘she ain’t a bad mare; and if she could eat bay, might do a good deal of work yet,’ and he gave a kinder chuckle laugh at his own joke, that sounded like the rattles in his throat, it was so dismal and deep, for he was one o’ them kind of fellers that’s too good to larf, was Steve.
“Well, the horn o’ grog he took, began to onloosen his tongue; and I got out of him, that she come near dyin’ the winter afore, her teeth was so bad, and that he had kept her all summer in a dyke pasture up to her fetlocks in white clover, and ginn’ her ground oats, and Indgian meal, and nothin’ to do all summer; and in the fore part of the fall, biled potatoes, and he’d got her as fat as a seal, and her skin as slick as an otter’s. She fairly shined agin, in the sun.
“‘She’ll jist suit the French’, said he, ‘they are a simple people and don’t know nothin’, and if they don’t like the mare, they must blame their priests for not teachin’ ‘em better. I shall keep within the strict line of truth, as becomes a Christian man. I scorn to take a man in.’
“Well, we chatted away arter this fashion, he a openin’ of himself and me a walk in’ into him; and we jogged along till we came to Charles Tarrio’s to Montagon, and there was the matter of a thousand French people gathered there, a chatterin’, and laughin’, and jawin’, and quarrellin’, and racin’, and wrastlin’, and all a givin’ tongue, like a pack of village dogs, when an Indgian comes to town. It was town meetin’ day.
“Well, there was a critter there, called by nickname, ‘Goodish Greevoy,’ a mounted on a white pony, one o’ the scariest little screamers, you ever see since you was born. He was a tryin’ to get up a race, was Goodish, and banterin’ every one that had a hoss to run with him.
“His face was a fortin’ to a painter. His forehead was high and narrer, shewin’ only a long strip o’ tawny skin, in a line with his nose, the rest bein’ covered with hair, as black as ink, and as iley as a seal’s mane. His brows was thick, bushy and overhangin’, like young brush-wood on a cliff, and onderneath, was two black peerin’ little eyes, that kept a-movin’ about, keen, good-natured, and roguish, but sot far into his skull, and looked like the eyes of a fox peepin’ out of his den, when he warn’t to home to company hisself. His nose was high, sharp, and crooked, like the back of a reapin’ hook, and gave a plaguy sight of character to his face, while his thinnish lips, that closed on a straight line, curlin’ up at one eend, and down at the other, shewed, if his dander was raised, he could be a jumpin’, tarin’, rampagenous devil if he chose. The pint of his chin projected and turned up gently, as if it expected, when Goodish lost his teeth, to rise in the world in rank next to the nose. When good natur’ sat on the box, and drove, it warn’t a bad face; when Old Nick was coachman, I guess it would be as well to give Master Frenchman the road.
“He had a red cap on his head, his beard hadn’t been cut since last sheep shearin’, and he looked as hairy as a tarrier; his shirt collar, ‘which was of yaller flannel, fell on his shoulders loose, and a black hankercher was tied round his neck, slack like a sailor’s. He wore a round jacket and loose trowsers of homespun with no waistcoat, and his trowsers was held up by a gallus of leather on one side, and of old cord on the other. Either Goodish had growed since his clothes was made, or his jacket and trowsers warn’t on speakin’ tarms, for they didn’t meet by three or four inches, and the shirt shewed atween them like a yaller militia sash round him. His feet was covered with moccasins of ontanned moose hide, and one heel was sot off with an old spur and looked sly and wicked. He was a sneezer that, and when he flourished his great long withe of a whip stick, that looked like a fishin’ rod, over his head, and yelled like all possessed, he was a caution, that’s a fact.
“A knowin’ lookin’ little hoss, it was too, that he was mounted on. Its tail was cut close off to the stump, which squared up his rump, and made him look awful strong in the hind quarters. His mane was “hogged” which fulled out the swell and crest of the neck, and his ears being cropped, the critter had a game look about him. There was a proper good onderstandin’ between him and his rider: they looked as if they had growed together, and made one critter—half hoss, half man with a touch of the devil.
“Goodish was all up on eend by what he drank, and dashed in and out of the crowd arter a fashion, that was quite cautionary, callin’ out, ‘Here comes “the grave-digger.” Don’t be skeered, if any of you get killed, here is the hoss that will dig his grave for nothin’. Who’ll run a lick of a quarter of a mile, for a pint of rum. Will you run?’ said he, a spunkin’ up to the Elder, ‘come, let’s run, and whoever wins, shall go the treat.’
“The Elder smiled as sweet as sugar candy, but backed out; he was too old, he said, now to run.