"I'd kind o' like t' draw the ribbons over that mare o' yourn,
mister," said Tunk, presently.
"Do you think you could manage her?"
"What!" said Tunk, in a voice of both query and exclamation. "Huh!
Don't I look as if I'd been used t' hosses. There ain't a bone in
my body that ain't been kicked--some on 'em two or three times.
Don't ye notice how I walk? Heavens, man! I hed my ex sprung
'fore I was fifteen!"
Tunk referred often and proudly to this early springing of his
"ex," by which he meant probably that horse violence had bent him
askew.
"Well, you shall have a chance to drive her," said Trove, spreading
his blanket. "But if I'd gone through what you have, I'd keep out
of danger."
"I like it," said Tunk, with emphasis. "I couldn't live without
it. Danger is a good deal like chawin' terbaccer--dum nasty 'til
ye git used to it. Fer me it's suthin' like strawberry short-cake
and allwus was. An' nerve, man, why jes' look a' there."
He held out a hand to show its steadiness.
"Very good," Trove remarked.
"Good? Why, it's jest as stiddy as a hitchin' post, an' purty nigh
as stout. Feel there," said Tunk, swelling his biceps.
"You must be very strong," said Trove, as he felt the rigid arm.
"A man has t' be in the boss business, er he ain't nowheres. If
they get wicked, ye've got t' put the power to 'em."
Tunk had only one horse to care for at the widow's, but he was
always in "the hoss business."
Then Tunk lit his torch and went away. Trove lay down, pulled his
blanket about him, and went to sleep.