My Boyhood and Touth 



One evening when the pell-mell Wild West 

 show was at its wildest, it made father so 

 extravagantly mad that he ordered me to 

 "Shoot Jack!" I went to the house and 

 brought the gun, suffering most horrible men- 

 tal anguish, such as I suppose unhappy Abra- 

 ham felt when commanded to slay Isaac. 

 Jack's life was spared, however, though I can't 

 tell what finally became of him. I wish I could. 

 After father bought a span of work horses he 

 was sold to a man who said he was going to 

 ride him across the plains to California. We 

 had him, I think, some five or six years. He 

 was the stoutest, gentlest, bravest little horse 

 I ever saw. He never seemed tired, could can- 

 ter all day with a man about as heavy as 

 himself on his back, and feared nothing. Once 

 fifty or sixty pounds of beef that was tied 

 on his back slid over his shoulders along his 

 neck and weighed down his head to the ground, 

 fairly anchoring him; but he stood patient and 

 still for half an hour or so without making the 

 slightest struggle to free himself, while I was 



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