“Well, bust me wide open, ef he knowed how to put the bridle on his horse! I’ve seen men that was ig’nant before, but he was the wust off with it I ever seed. He didn’t know whether the bits went behind the years, or into the mouth—blamed ef he did!
“Finally, at last, he got mounted, and jogged off—you remember what I told you ’bout the saw-mill gate—well that’s the way old Cuss rattled his buttons. He was the most lonesome-lookin’ critter, a-settin’ on that old horse, with his new saddle and bridle, that ever I seed! As soon as he got cleverly out o’ sight, Jim gin two or three Injun whoops, and people did say in Dudleyville, whar he stopped that night, that he got thar in mighty reasonable good time! So that’s the way, Squire, I come by Fiddler Bill . . . . . ain’t it, Bill?” whereupon Fiddler pricked up his ears, but said nothing.
About this time, we arrived at a mean-looking shanty, and calling, were answered by a man who came out to us. It was Jim Blake.
“Here’s the sensis-taker,” said Uncle Kit.
“Hang the sensis-taker,” was the blunt reply.
“Don’t say that, Jim,” returned Uncle Kit; “he’s a good little Union Squire Mr. Van Buren’s sent round to take ’count of the cloth and chickens, jist to see ef the wimmin’s sprightly.”
“I don’t care a dried apple for him nor Mr. Van Buren nother,” said Mr. Blake; “Mr. Van Buren is gittin’ too cussed smart, enny way—my opinion is, he’s a measly hog!”
“Son! son!” exclaimed old Kit, deprecatingly, “don’t talk that way. Van Buren’s the Union President, and old Hickory says he’ll do!”
“I don’t care who says he’ll do—I’m gwine to vote for Harrison—see ef I don’t!”
Uncle Kit was struck dumb, and after obtaining a list of the family with much difficulty, we rode away.