Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 19, Number 36, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 7 January 1898 — HE COULD KICK. [ARTICLE]

HE COULD KICK.

A Mule that Would Be Very Unpopular on the Avenue. At rare Intervals along the mountain roads of West Virginia and Kentucky the traveler tnay come upon a blacksmith shop, but he is much safer in the shoeing of his horse if he will carry a few nails and tools in the bottom of his buggy. On a trip by Round Gap on one occasion I found a blacksmith shop at the forks of the road, and, as usual, a half dozen or more men sitting around it in the shade. My turnout needed some repairs and as the smith was pottering about it Inside, 1 made talk with the men outside. One of them wanted to sell me a mule which he had hung up on the fence and I started in for a dicker. After we had been talking for perhaps a quarter of an hour, the smith asked me to step inside and show him something about the work he was doing. As soon as he got me away from the crowd he came close and grew confidential. • r “Y’ain’t thinkin’ uv buyin’ that critter, air you?” he asked in all sincerity. “Well, I don’t know. I want a mule and that one looks all right,” I said. “You can’t tell a mule by his looks, mister. Mules is fer all the world like women. “What’s the matter with him?” I inquired, quite ignoring the comparison. “He ain’t safe. Course I ain’t got nothin’ ag’ln’ the mule ner the owner and I’d be glad enough fer him to git the money fer him, fer he owes me fer the shoein’ uv him, but I don’t like ter see a stranger tuck in an’ done up like he’s tryin’ to do you.” “But you haven’t told me what’s the matter with the mule,” I insisted. “Will he kick?” “That’s his weakness, mister,” responded the smith, letting his voice fall to a whisper. “You won’t believe me, p’raps, but I’m tellin* you he’s the klckin’est critter in the mountains. He shore is, mister, and I hope I may die right here, es he can’t kick the sody outen a biscuit, an’ never crack the crust. He kin, mister, er I’m a brother to him.”