In selling any living thing he seemed to try and invent the most cruel modes of transportation, putting calves, sheep or poultry in such small cases that they would be piled on top of each other. In driving sheep, there were always serious accidents happening, and many a time has he driven fat hogs in the heat and dust until one would fall by the wayside, and then he would kick it to death.
You would not take him for such a man, just seeing him about. Ordinarily he had a low, soft voice, and gentle winning ways.
His influence over his brothers and the hired men was very bad.
Somebody sent him a fine bird dog, as a present.
"At last," I thought, "he has something that he will be good to."
A friend came to visit him, and, taking Topsy and Bulow, the dog, they went for prairie chickens.
Dr. Dick and I were gone when they returned, but Topsy told me about it.
She said that Bulow seemed so happy on the way out, and that the men sounded his praise continually.
"A fine fellow, worth fifty dollars," was his master's verdict.
After a while the dog scared up a covey of chickens, and the men—rising in their seats—shot into them.