Clarence sat open-mouthed with anxiety and excitement, and yet a few of the other teamsters laughed.

Then the voice of Mr.Peyton, from the window of his car, said quietly,-- "There, that will do, Jim.

Quit it!" The furious horse and rider instantly disappeared.

A few moments after, the bewildered Clarence saw the redoubted horseman trotting along quietly in the dust of the rear, on the same fiery steed, who in that prosaic light bore an astounding resemblance to an ordinary team horse.
Later in the day he sought an explanation from the rider.
"You see," answered Jim gloomily, "thar ain't a galoot in this yer crowd ez knows jist WHAT'S in that hoss! And them ez suspecks daren't say! It wouldn't do for to hev it let out that the Judge hez a Morgan-Mexican plug that's killed two men afore he got him, and is bound to kill another afore he gets through! Why, on'y the week afore we kem up to you, that thar hoss bolted with me at camping! Bucked and throwed me, but I kept my holt o' the stirrups with my foot--so! Dragged me a matter of two miles, head down, and me keepin' away rocks with my hand--so!" "Why didn't you loose your foot and let go ?" asked Clarence breathlessly.
"YOU might," said Jim, with deep scorn; "that ain't MY style.

I just laid low till we kem to a steep pitched hill, and goin' down when the hoss was, so to speak, kinder BELOW me, I just turned a hand spring, so, and that landed me onter his back again." This action, though vividly illustrated by Jim's throwing his hands down like feet beneath him, and indicating the parabola of a spring in the air, proving altogether too much for Clarence's mind to grasp, he timidly turned to a less difficult detail.
"What made the horse bolt first, Mr.Hooker ?" "Smelt Injins!" said Jim, carelessly expectorating tobacco juice in a curving jet from the side of his mouth--a singularly fascinating accomplishment, peculiarly his own, "'n' likely YOUR Injins." "But," argued Clarence hesitatingly, "you said it was a week before--and--" "Er Mexican plug kin smell Injins fifty, yes, a hundred miles away," said Jim, with scornful deliberation; "'n' if Judge Peyton had took my advice, and hadn't been so mighty feared about the character of his hoss gettin' out he'd hev played roots on them Injins afore they tetched ye.
But," he added, with gloomy dejection, "there ain't no sand in this yer crowd, thar ain't no vim, thar ain't nothin'; and thar kan't be ez long ez thar's women and babies, and women and baby fixin's, mixed up with it.