Wall, Jim knowed if he
didn't git rid of that hoss, his reputation as a
hoss trader wuz forever gone; so he went
over in t'other township to see old Deacon
Witherspoon. You see the Deacon he wuz
mighty fond of goin' a-huntin', and as he
had rheumatiz purty bad it wuz sort of hard
fer him to git 'round, so he had to do his
huntin' on hoss back. Wall, Jim didn't say
much to fuss, just kinder hinted around that
huntin' was a-goin' to be mighty good this
fall, cos he'd seen one or two flocks of
partridges over back of Sprosby's medder, and
some right smart of quail over by Buttermilk
ford, and finally he sed: "Deacon, I've got
a hoss you ought to hev; he's a setter."
Wall, you could hav knocked the Deacon's
eyes off with a club, they stuck out like
bumps on a log, and he sed, "Why, Jim, I
never heered tell of sech a thing in all my
life; the idea of a horse being a setter!"
Jim sed, "Yes, Deacon, he's bin trained to
set for all kinds of game. I calculated as
how I'd git a shotgun this fall and do right
smart of hunting." So the Deacon sed,
"Wall, now, I want to know; bring him
over, Jim, I'd like to see him."
Wall, Jim took the hoss over, and all
Punkin Centre jest sort of held its breath to
see how it would cum out.
Jim and the Deacon went a-hunting, and
as they wuz a-ridin' along through the timber
down by Ruben Hendrick's paster, Jim
keepin' his eyes peeled and not sayin' much,
when all to onct he seen a rabbit settin' in a
brush heap, and he jist tetched the old hoss
on the sides and he squatted right down.
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