In the meantime, there
were Flora and Fanny, hitched to Dunlap and Thatcher's light wagon,
disappearing among the burr oaks toward the Dubuque highway. I thought
of my pride as I drove away from Madison with these two steeds, and of
the pretty figure I cut the morning when red-haired Alice climbed up,
offered to go with me, and kissed me before she climbed down. Would she
have done this if I had been driving oxen, or still worse, those animals
which few thought worth anything as draught animals--cows? And then I
thought of Flora's lameness the day before yesterday. Was it honest to
let Dunlap and Thatcher drive off to liberate the nation with a horse
that might go lame?
"Let me have a horse," said I to Preston. "I want to catch them and tell
them something."
I rode up behind the Abolitionists' wagon, waving my hat and shouting.
They pulled up and waited.
"What's up?" asked Dunlap. "Going with us after all? I hope so, my boy."
"No," said I, "I just wanted to say that that nigh mare was lame day
before yesterday, and I--I--I didn't want you to start off with her
without knowing it."
Dunlap asked about her lameness, and got out to look her over. He felt
of her muscles, and carefully scrutinized her for swelling or swinney or
splint or spavin or thoroughpin. Then he lifted one foot after another,
and cleaned out about the frog, tapping the hoof all over for soreness.
Down deep beside the frog of the foot which she had favored he found a
little pebble.
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