upon to act up to his self-imposed role of reckless wickedness, was not
unkindly.
It was only a few days after the massacre, and while the children were
still wrapped in the gloomy interest and frightened reticence which
followed it, that "Jim Hooker" first characteristically flashed upon
Clarence's perceptions. Hanging half on and half off the saddle of
an Indian pony, the lank Jim suddenly made his appearance, dashing
violently up and down the track, and around the wagon in which Clarence
was sitting, tugging desperately at the reins, with every indication of
being furiously run away with, and retaining his seat only with the most
dauntless courage and skill. Round and round they went, the helpless
rider at times hanging by a single stirrup near the ground, and again
recovering himself by--as it seemed to Clarence--almost superhuman
effort. 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
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