An' it'll take great thumpin' jumps sometimes, an' run along the tops of the trees, carrying its partner with it, an' then droppin' him jest as a fish hawk'll drop a pickerel to kill it before eatin'. An' its food, of all the muck in the whole Bush is moss!" And he laughed a short, unnatural laugh.
Then he enquired about the score and calmly took aim again. The stallion show came on that afternoon. 'They can't never beat thet hoss, Uncle Eb had said to me. ''Fraid they will, I answered. 'They're better hitched for one thing. 'But they hain't got the ginger in 'em, said he, 'er the git up 'n git. If we can show what's in him the Hawk'll beat 'em easy.