“Good luck done kotch me agin, niggers!” he laughed. Then he slipped behind the bar beside Skeeter, and said:
“Skeeter, you hab done me a large amount of great good.”
“I don’t deeserve no credick,” Skeeter laughed. “I jes’ happened to know Pap Curtain, an’ besides dat, I done expe’unce dat little Tuckapoo mustang named Doodlebug befo’. I monkeyed wid dat pony one time, an’ Skeeter wus a well skint sucker.”
“Pap hadn’t oughter did me dat way,” Shin lamented.
“Pap cain’t ack no diffunt,” Skeeter told him. “Some niggers is like snakes. Dey gotter wiggle an’ twist an’ go crooked to git along.”
“I shore wish I could gib Pap a twist dat he ain’t lookin’ fer,” Shin declared.
Skeeter eyed him a moment with intense interest. Then he asked:
“I’ll ack like eve’y nigger--spend it!” Shin laughed.
“I figger on buyin’ a race-hoss wid my win,” Skeeter suggested. “How would dat plan suit you wid yo’ money?”
“You reckin I could git a hoss whut’ll beat Pap’s Doodlebug?” Shin asked eagerly.
“Suttinly,” Skeeter assured him. “Doodlebug ain’t such a much hoss. Of co’se, he kin beat dese here old plow-hosses whut runs agin him. I knows de hoss whut kin beat him right now.”
Shin pulled his roll of money out of his pocket and passed it back.
“Buy me dat hoss, Skeeter,” he said earnestly. “I don’t want nothin’ as bad as I want to git Pap Curtain’s goat!”
Shin Bone tended bar for Skeeter Butts until eleven o’clock that night, then Skeeter returned to the Hen-Scratch saloon, covered with swamp mud and leading a slim black horse.
“Dis is yo’ winner, Shin,” he said in weary tones, as he placed the lead-rope into the hands of the pop-eyed owner. “I got him for fifty dollars cash down, an’ he’s shore a dandy.”
“He looks pretty peart,” Shin grinned. “Kin he run?”
“Yep,” Skeeter said in a disgusted tone. “He kin run like a log raff floatin’ _up_ de Massassap’ River. But us ain’t winnin’ on his speed--us is bettin’ on his looks.”
“I don’t ketch on ’bout dis,” Shin said stupidly. “Dis sounds to me like you done waste my money.”
“Don’t go by sound, Shin,” Skeeter snickered. “Go by looks. Now listen to dis few advices: you waste all de rest of dis night scourin’ down dis hoss wid a currycomb, a brush, an’ a rag. As soon as it is good day, you git out on de race-track an’ lope dis hoss aroun’ fer a while. Ef Pap Curtain is out on de track, you show him how good dis hoss kin pufform.”