hand, sir!" He shook it. "And is that your horse in number four? I
wondered! He's the first animal I've seen here properly shod. They use
the rasp, sir, on the outside the hoof, and on the clinches, sir; and
they burn a seat for the shoe; and they pare out the sole and trim the
frog--bah! You shoe your own horse, I take it. That's right and proper!
Your hand again, sir. Your horse has been fed this hour agone."

"I'll water him, then," said I.

But when I led him forth I could find no trough or other facilities
until the little man led me to a corner of the corral and showed me a
contraption with a close-fitting lid to be lifted.

"It's along of the flies," he explained to me. "They must drink, and we
starve them for water here, and they go greedy for their poison yonder."
He indicated flat dishes full of liquid set on shelves here and about.
"We keep them pretty clear."

I walked over, curiously, to examine. About and in the dishes were
literally quarts of dead insects, not only flies, but bees, hornets, and
other sorts as well. I now understood the deadly silence that had so
impressed me the evening before. This was certainly most ingenious; and
I said so.

But at my first remark the old man became obstinately silent, and fell
again to grooming the Morgan horse. Then I became aware that he was
addressing me in low tones out of the corner of his mouth.

"Go on; look at the horse; say something," he muttered, busily
polishing down the animal's hind legs. "You're a man who _saveys_ a