We steps over and takes a close look. It’s kinda dark in that stall.
Whap!
Somethin’ hit me in the face and I done a foot-race backward plumb to the rear door, where I hits my shoulders first, followed by the rest of my anatomy, makin’ a sound like the couplin’-up of an engine on a train of cars. Kinda clunkety, clinkety, clank!
Through the haze I sees Dirty Shirt fade out through the front doorway, and I seen Wick Smith climb up a post, where he hangs harness. He got hold of the harness peg and tries to lift himself up; but the peg busted and he landed back on the floor under two sets of heavy harness.
I got up and went weavin’ down the stable, feelin’ kinda light and airy. I seen Wick come up from under that harness and go gallopin’ out of the place with a horse collar around his neck and a set of tugs sailin’ out behind, holdin’ a hame in each hand, like a man carryin’ two flags.
I fell down twice before I got outside, where I found Dirty and Wick. Wick got a tug caught in the sidewalk and ain’t got sense enough to let loose of the hame. There he is, yankin’ and haulin’, while Dirty is standin’ in front of him, legs wide apart, wavin’ his hat in Wick’s face and yellin’.
“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa, you — fool!”
I fell over the tug and sat down on the edge of the sidewalk. Dirty manages to get Wick calmed down, and we looks each other over. Dirty has got a pair of sleeves on, but no shirt. His jiggly eye does a lot of cavortin’, as he looks at me.
“I never expected to see any of us alive,” says he.
“You don’t need to start cheerin’,” says I. “What in — was the matter, Wick?”