"We ought to stop and get the horses shod. I was looking at
the holes the calks of Old Blacky's shoes made in the wagon-box
last night, and they are shallow and irregular. He needs new
shoes to do himself justice. If this blacksmith seems like a man
of force of character, we'll see what he can do."

Jack looked at the blacksmith quizzically when we drove up,
and whispered to us, "He'll do," and we unhitched. The pony had
never been shod, and did not seem to need any artificial aids, so
we left her to graze about while the others were being attended
to.

"Just shoe the brown one first, if it doesn't make any
difference," said Jack.

"All right," answered the blacksmith, and he went to work on
this decent old nag, who slept peacefully throughout the whole
operation.

He then began On Old Blacky. He soon had shoes nailed on the
old reprobate's forward feet, and approached his rear ones. Old
Blacky had made no resistance so far, and had contented himself
with gnawing at the side of the shop and switching his tail. He
even allowed the blacksmith to take one of his hind-feet between
his knees and start to pull off the old shoe. Then he began to
struggle to free his leg. The blacksmith held on. Old Blacky saw
that the time for action had arrived, so he drew his leg, with
the foolish blacksmith still clinging to it, well up forward, and
then threw it back with all his strength. The leg did not fly