The leg did not fly
off, but the blacksmith did, and half-way across the shop. He
picked himself up, and, after looking at the horse, said:
[Illustration: Flight of the Blacksmith]
"'Pears's if that ain't a colt any more."
"No," answered Jack; "he's fifteen or sixteen."
"Old enough to know better," observed the blacksmith. "I'll
try him again."
He once more got the leg up, and again Old Blacky tried to
throw him off. But this time the man hung on. After the third
effort Blacky looked around at him with a good deal of surprise.
Then he put down the leg to which the man was still clinging, and
with the other gave him a blow which was half a kick and half a
push, which sent the man sprawling over by his anvil.
"The critter don't seem to take to it nohow, does he?" said
the blacksmith, cheerfully, as he again got up.
"He's a very peculiar horse," answered Jack. "Has violent
likes and dislikes. His likes are for food, and his dislikes for
everything else."
"I'll tackle him again, though," said the man.
But Blacky saw that he could no longer afford to temporize
with the fellow, and now began kicking fiercely with both feet in
all directions, swinging about like a warship to get the proper
range on everything in sight, and finally ending up by putting
one foot through the bellows.
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