There ain't nothin' like it.

I don't mean the racin', because they can't go ahead like us, if they was to die for it.

We have colts that can whip chain lightnin', on a pinch.

Old Clay trotted with it once all round an orchard, and beat it his whole length, but it singed his tail properly as he passed it, you may depend.

It ain't its runnin' I speak of, therefore, though that ain't mean nother; but it's got another featur', that you'll know it by from all others.