A WALKING DELEGATE
"Say, look a-here, you ain't goin' to hurt me, are you? Remember, I belong to a man in town," cried the yellow horse, uneasily. Muldoon kept behind him so that he could not run away.
"I know it. There must be some pore delooded fool in this State hez a right to the loose end o' your hitchin'-strap. I 'm blame sorry fer him, but he shall hev his rights when we 're through with you," said Rod.
"If it 's all the same, gentlemen, I 'd ruther change pasture. Guess I 'll do it now."
"Can't always have your 'druthers. Guess you won't," said Rod.
"But look a-here. All of you ain't so blame unfriendly to a stranger. S'pose we count noses."
"What in Vermont fer?" said Rod, putting up his eyebrows. The idea of settling a question by counting noses is the very last thing that ever enters the head of a well-broken horse.
"To see how many 's on my side. Here 's Miss Tuck, anyway; an' Colonel Tweezy yonder 's neutral; an' Judge Marcus, an' I guess the Reverend [the yellow horse meant the Deacon] might see that I had my rights. He 's the likeliest-lookin' trotter I 've ever set eyes on. Pshaw, boys! You ain't goin' to pound me, be you? Why, we 've gone round in pasture, all colts together, this month o' Sundays, hain't we, as friendly as could be. There ain't a horse alive—I don't care who he is—has a higher opinion o' you, Mr. Rod, than I have. Let 's do it fair an' true an' above the exe. Let 's count noses same 's they do in Kansas." Here he dropped his voice a little and turned to Marcus: "Say, Judge, there 's some green food I know, back o' the brook, no one
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