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Updated: May 24, 2025
Sometimes, for the frolic, I would load my cart with young misses and dump them at the Hive door, backing up to it in the most approved style of an old "gee-haw" farmer. "Prince Albert," the bull, was a gem. He worked admirably. He never gave me any trouble, or anyone else human, but when stalled near the oxen he had a peculiar fancy to poke his horns into them.
So I went to work and learned to gee-haw a six-mule team of the stubbornest mules in the world, hauling bacon, but there was no romance in taking care of six mules that would kick so you had to put the harness on them with a pitchfork, for fear of having your head kicked off. If I ever get a pension it will be for my loss of character and temper in driving those mules.
This man had things "hung up" and was well-to-do. Down the rise and through a thicket he went, and as he approached the creek that came down past the cabin there was a shrill cry ahead of him. "Whoa thar, Buck! Gee-haw, I tell ye!" An ox-wagon evidently was coming on, and the road was so narrow that he turned his horse into the bushes to let it pass. "Whoa Haw! Gee Gee Buck, Gee, I tell ye!
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