University of Virginia Library

SUT LOVINGOOD'S DADDY, ACTING HORSE.

“Hole that ar hoss down tu the yeath.” “He's a
fixin fur the heavings.” “He's a spreadin his tail
feathers tu fly. Look out, Laigs, if you aint ready
tu go up'ards.” “Wo, Shavetail.” “Git a fiddil; he's
tryin a jig.” “Say, Long Laigs, rais'd a power ove
co'm didn't yu?” “Taint co'n, hits redpepper.”

These and like expressions were addressed to a queer
looking, long legged, short bodied, small headed, white
haired, hog eyed, funny sort of a genius, fresh from
some bench-legged Jew's clothing store, mounted on
“Tearpoke,” a nick tailed, bow necked, long, poor, pale
sorrel horse, half dandy, half devil, and enveloped in a
perfect net-work of bridle, reins, crupper, martingales,
straps, surcingles, and red ferreting, who reined up in
front of Pat Nash's grocery, among a crowd of mountaineers
full of fun, foolery, and mean whisky.

This was Sut Lovingood.

“I say, you durn'd ash cats, jis' keep yer shuts on,
will ye? You never seed a rale hoss till I rid up;

you's p'raps stole ur owned shod rabbits ur sheep wif
borred saddils on, but when you tuck the fus' begrudgin
look jis' now at this critter, name Tarpoke, yu
wer injoyin a sight ove nex' tu the bes' hoss what
ever shell'd nubbins ur toted jugs, an' he's es ded es a
still wum, poor ole Tickytail!

“Wo! wo! Tarpoke, yu cussed infunel fidgety
hide full ove hell fire, can't yu stan' still an listen
while I'se a polishin yer karacter off es a mortul hoss
tu these yere durned fools?”

Sut's tongue or his spurs brought Tearpoke into
something like passable quietude while he continued:

“Say yu, sum ove yu growin hogs made a re-mark
jis' now 'bout redpepper. I jis' wish tu say in a gineral
way that eny wurds cupplin redpepper an Tarpoke
tugether am durn'd infurnal lies.”

“What killed Tickeytail, Sut?” asked an anxious inquirer
after truth.

“Why nuffin, you cussed fool; he jis' died so, standin
up et that. Warn't that rale casteel hoss pluck?
Yu see, he froze stiff; no, not that adzactly, but starv'd
fust, an' froze arterards, so stiff that when dad an' me
went tu lay him out an' we push'd him over, he stuck
out jis' so, (spreading his arms and legs,) like ontu a
carpenter's bainch, an' we hed tu wait ni ontu seventeen
days fur 'im tu thaw afore we cud skin 'im.”

“Skin 'im?” interrupted a rat-faced youth, whittling
on a corn stalk, “I thot yu wanted tu lay the hoss out.”

“The hell yu did! Aint skinin the natral way ove
layin out a hoss, I'd like tu no? See a yere, soney,
yu tell yer mam tu hev yu sot back jis' bout two years,
fur et the rate yu'se a climbin yu stan's a pow'ful chance
tu die wif yer shoes on, an' git laid hoss way, yu dus.”

The rat-faced youth shut up his knife and subsided.

“Well, thar we wer—dad, an' me, (counting on his
fingers,) an' Sall, an' Jake, (fool Jake we calls 'im fur
short,) an' Jim, an' Phineass, an' Callimy Jane, an' Sharlottyann,
an' me, an' Zodiack, an' Cashus Clay, an'
Noah Dan Webster, an' the twin gals, (Castur and
Pollox,) an' me, an' Catherin Second, an' Cleopatry
Antony, an' Jane Barnum Lind, an' me, an' Benton
Bullion, an' the baby what haint nam'd yet, an' me,
an' the Prospect, an' mam hersef, all lef in the woods
alone, wifout ara hoss tu crup wif.”

“Yu'se counted yersef five times, Mister Lovingood,”
said a tomato-nosed man in ragged overcoat.

“Yas, ole Still-tub, that's jis the perporshun I bears in
the famerly fur dam fool, leavin out Dad in course.
Yu jis let me alone, an' be a thinkin ove gittin more
hoops ontu yu. Yus leakin now; see thar.” Ha! ha!
from the crowd, and “Still-tub” went into the doggery.

“Warnt that a devil's own mess ove broth fur a 'spectabil
white famerly tu be sloshin about in? I be durned
ef I didn't feel sorter like stealin a hoss sumtimes, an' I
speck I'd a dun hit, but the stealin streak in the Lovingoods,

all run tu durned fool, an' the onvartus streak
all run tu laigs. Jis look down the side ove this yere
hoss mos' tu the groun'. Dus yu see em?

“Well we waited, an' wished, an' rested, an' plan'd,
an' wished, an' waited agin, ontil ni ontu strawberry
time, hopin sum stray hoss mout cum along; but dorg
my cats, ef eny sich good luck ever cums wifin reach
ove whar dad is, he's so dod-dratted mean, an' lazy, an'
ugly, an' savidge, an' durn fool tu kill.

“Well, one nite he lay awake till cock-crowin a-snortin,
an' rollin, an' blowin, an' shufflin, an' scratchin hissef,
an' a whisperin at mam a heap, an' at breckfus'
I foun' out what hit ment. Says he, `Sut, I'll tell yu
what we'll du: I'll be hoss mysef, an' pull the plow
whilst yu drives me, an' then the “Ole Quilt” (he ment
that fur mam,) an' the brats kin plant, an' tend, ur jis
let hit alone, es they darn pleze; I aint a carein.'

“So out we went tu the pawpaw thicket, an' peel'd a
rite smart chance ove bark, an' mam an' me made
geers fur dad, while he sot on the fence a-lookin at us,
an' a studyin pow'rful. I arterards foun' out, he wer
a-studyin how tu play the kar-acter ove a hoss puffectly.

“Well, the geers becum him mitily, an' nuffin wud
du 'im but he mus hev a bridil, so I gits a umereller
brace—hit's a litil forked piece ove squar wire bout a
foot long, like a yung pitch-fork, yu no—an' twisted hit
sorter intu a bridil bit snaffil shape. Dad wanted hit

made kurb, es he hedn't work'd fur a good while, an'
said he mout sorter feel his keepin, an' go tu ravin an'
cavortin.

“When we got the bridil fix'd ontu dad, don't yu bleve
he sot in tu chompin hit jis like a rale hoss, an' tried
tu bite me on the arm, (he allers wer a mos' complikated
durned ole fool, an' mam sed so when he warnt
about.) I put on the geers, an' while mam wer a-tyin
the belly ban', a-strainin hit pow'rful tite, he drapt ontu
his hans, sed `Whay-a-a' like a mad hoss wud, an'
slung his hine laigs at mam's hed. She step'd back a
littil an' wer standin wif her arms cross'd a-restin em
on her stumick, an' his heel taps cum wifin a inch ove
her nose. Sez she, `Yu plays hoss better nur yu dus
husban.' He jis' run backards on all fours, an' kick'd at
her agin, an'— an' pawd the groun wif his fis.

“`Lead him off tu the field, Sut, afore he kicks ur
bites sumbody,' sez mam. I shoulder'd the gopher
plow, an' tuck hole ove the bridil. Dad leaned back
sulky, till I sed cluck cluck wif my tounge, then he
started. When we cum tu the fence I let down the
gap, an' hit made dad mad; he wanted tu jump hit on
all fours hoss way. Oh' geminy! what a durn'd ole
fool kin cum tu ef he gins up tu the complaint.

“I hitch'd 'im tu the gopher, a-watchin him pow'ful
clost, fur I'd see how quick he cud drap ontu his hans,
an' kick, an' away we went, dad leanin forard tu his
pullin, an' we made rite peart plowin, fur tu hev a green

hoss, an' bark gears; he went over the sprowts an' bushes
same as a rale hoss, only he traveled on two laigs. I
wer mitily hope up bout co'n; I cud a'mos' see hit a
cumin up; but thar's a heap ove whisky spilt twixt the
counter an' the mouf, ef hit ain't got but two foot tu
travil. 'Bout the time he wer beginin tu break sweat,
we cum tu a sassafrack bush, an tu keep up his
kar-acter es a hoss, he buljed squar intu an' thru hit,
tarin down a ball ho'nets nes' ni ontu es big es a hoss's
hed, an' the hole tribe kiver'd 'im es quick es yu cud
kiver a sick pup wif a saddil blanket. He lit ontu
his hans agin, an kick'd strait up onst, then he rar'd,
an' fotch a squeal wus nur ara stud hoss in the State, an'
sot in tu strait runnin away jis es natral es yu ever
seed any uther skeer'd hoss du. I let go the line an'
holler'd, Wo! dad, wo! but yu mout jis' es well say
Woa! tu a locomotum, ur Suke cow tu a gal.

“Gewhillitins! how he run: when he cum tu bushes,
he'd clar the top ove em wif a squeal, gopher an' all.
P'raps he tho't thar mout be anuther settilment ove
ball ho'nets thar, an' hit wer safer tu go over than
thru, an' quicker dun eny how. Every now an' then
he'd fan the side ove his hed, fust wif wun fore laig
an' then tuther, then he'd gin hissef a roun-handed slap
what soundid like a waggin whip ontu the place whar
the breechbands tetches a hoss, a-runnin all the time
an' a-kerrin that ar gopher jis 'bout as fas' an' es hi
frum the yeath es ever eny gopher wer kerried I'll swar.

[ILLUSTRATION]

SUT LOVINGOOD'S DADDY ACTING HORSE.
"He seem'd tu run jis adzactly es fas' es a ho'net cud fly: hit wer the titest race I ever
seed, fur wun hoss to git all the whipin." Page 25.

[Description: 565EAF. Illustration Page. Image of a man standing behind a plow watching another man, who is naked, run away in a cloud of insects.]

When he cum tu the fence, he jis tore thru hit, bustin
an' scatterin ni ontu seven panils wif lots ove broken
rails. Rite yere he lef the gopher, geers, close, clevis,
an' swingltress, all mix'd up, an' not wuf a durn. Mos'
ove his shut staid ontu the aind ove a rail, an' ni ontu
a pint ove ho'nets stop'd thar a stingin all over; hits
smell fool'd em. The balance on em, ni ontu a gallun,
kep' on wif dad. He seem'd tu run jis adzactly es fas'
es a ho'net cud fly; hit wer the titest race I ever seed,
fur wun hoss tu git all the whipin. Down thru a saige
field they all went, the ho'nets makin hit look like thar
wer smoke roun' dad's bald hed, an' he wif nuffin on
the green yeath in the way ove close about im, but the
bridil, an' ni ontu a yard ove plow line sailin behine,
wif a tir'd out ho'net ridin on the pint ove hit. I seed
that he wer aimin fur the swimin hole in the krick,
whar the bluff am over-twenty five foot pupendiculer
tu the warter, an' hits ni ontu ten foot deep.

“Well, tu keep up his karacter es a hoss, plum thru,
when he got tu the bluff he loped off, ur rather jis'
kep on a runnin. Kerslunge intu the krick he went.
I seed the warter fly plum abuv the bluff from whar I
wer.

“Now rite thar, boys, he over-did the thing, ef actin
hoss tu the scribe wer what he wer arter; fur thars nara
hoss ever foaldid durned fool enuf tu lope over eny
sich place; a cussed muel mout a dun hit, but dad
warn't actin muel, tho' he orter tuck that karacter; hits

adzactly sooted tu his dispersition, all but not breedin.
I crept up tu the aidge, an' peep'd over. Thar wer
dad's bald hed fur all the yeath like a peeled inyin, a
bobbin up an' down an' aroun, an' the ho'nets sailin
roun tuckey buzzard fashun, an' every onst in a
while one, an' sum times ten, wud take a dip at dad's
bald head. He kep' up a rite peart dodgin onder, sumtimes
afore they hit im, an' sumtimes arterard, an' the
warter wer kivered wif drownded ball ho'nets. Tu
look at hit frum the top ove the bluff, hit wer pow'ful
inturestin, an' sorter funny; I wer on the bluff myse'f,
mine yu.

“Dad cudent see the funny part frum whar he wer,
but hit seem'd tu be inturestin tu him frum the 'tenshun
he wer payin tu the bisness ove divin an' cussin.

“Sez I, `Dad, ef yu's dun washin yersef, an hes drunk
enuff, less go back tu our plowin, hit will soon be powful
hot.' `Hot—hell!' sez dad; `hit am hot rite now.
Don't (an onder went his hed) yer see (dip) these
cussed (dip) infun—(dip) varmints arter me?' (dip.)
`What,' sez I, `them ar hoss flies thar, that's nat'ral, dad;
you aint raley fear'd ove them is yu?' `Hoss flies! h—l
an' (dip) durnation!' sez dad, `theyse rale ginui—(dip)
ball ho'nets, (dip) yu infunel ignurant cuss!' (dip.)
`Kick em—bite em—paw em—switch em wif yure tail,
dad,' sez I. `Oh! soney, soney, (dip) how I'll sweeten
yure—(dip) when these (dip) ho'nets leave yere.' `Yu'd

better du the levin yursef dad,' sez I. `Leave yere!
Sturn yu d—n fool! How (dip) kin I, (dip) when they
won't (dip) let me stay (dip) atop (dip) the warter even.'
`Well, dad, yu'l hev tu stay thar till nite, an' arter they
goes tu roos' yu cum home. I'll hev yer feed in the
troft redy; yu won't need eny curyin tu-nite will yu?'
`I wish (dip) I may never (dip) see to-morrer, ef I (dip)
don't make (dip) hame strings (dip) outer yure hide
(dip) when I dus (dip) git outen yere,' sez dad.
`Better say yu wish yu may never see anuther ball
ho'net, ef yu ever play hoss agin,' sez I.

“Them words toch dad tu the hart, an' I felt they
mus' be my las, knowin dad's onmollified nater. I
broke frum them parts, an' sorter cum over yere tu the
copper mines. When I got tu the hous', `Whar's yer
dad?' sez mam. `Oh, he turn'd durn fool, an' run away,
busted every thing all tu cussed smash, an's in the
swimin hole a divin arter minners. Look out mam, he'll
cum home wif a angel's temper; better sen' fur sum
strong man body tu keep him frum huggin yu tu deth.
`Law sakes!' sez mam; `I know'd he cudent act hoss
fur ten minutes wifout actin infunel fool, tu save his
life.'

“I staid hid out ontil nex' arternoon, an' I seed a
feller a-travelin'. Sez I, `How de do, mister? What wer
agwine on at the cabin, this side the crick, when yu
pass'd thar?' `Oh, nuthin much, only a pow'ful fat man
wer a lyin in the yard ontu his belly, wif no shut on,

an' a 'oman wer a greasin ove his shoulders an' arms
outen a gourd. A pow'ful curious, vishus, skeery lookin
cuss he is tu b'shure. His head am as big es a wash
pot, an' he hasent the fust durned sign ove an eye—jist
two black slits. Is thar much small pox roun yere?'
`Small hell!' sez I, `no sir.' `Been much fightin in this
neighborhood lately?' `Nun wuf speakin ove,' sez I.
He scratched his head—`Nur French measils?' `Not
jis clost,' sez I. `Well, do yu know what ails that man
back thar?' `Jist gittin over a vilent attack ove dam
fool,' sez I. `Well, who is he eny how?' I ris tu
my feet, an' straiched out my arm, an' sez I, `Strainger,
that man is my dad.' He looked at my laigs an' pussonel
feeters a moment, an' sez he, `Yas, dam ef he
aint.'

“Now boys, I haint seed dad since, an' I dusent hev
much appertite tu see im fur sum time tu cum. Less
all drink! Yere's luck tu the durned old fool, an' the
ho'nets too.