murderer at heart. I have known him to bite the backbone out of a
yearling pig that came under his manger, and no other horse on our farm
would stand before him a moment when he came on, mouth open and ears
laid back. He would fight man, dog, or devil, and fear was not in him,
nor any real submission. He was no harder to sit than many horses I have
ridden. I have seen Arabians and Barbary horses and English hunters that
would buck-jump now and then. Satan contented himself with rearing high
and whirling sharply, and lunging with a low head; so that to ride him
was a matter of strength as well as skill. The greatest danger was in
coming near his mouth or heels. My father always told me that this horse
was not fit to ride; but since my father rode him--as he would any horse
that offered--nothing would serve me but I must ride Satan also, and so
I made him my private saddler on occasion.

I ought to speak of my father, that very brave and kindly gentleman from
whom I got what daring I ever had, I suppose. He was a clean-cut man,
five-eleven in his stockings, and few men in all that country had a
handsomer body. His shoulders sloped--an excellent configuration for
strength--as a study of no less a man than George Washington will
prove--his arms were round, his skin white as milk, his hair, like my
own, a sandy red, and his eyes blue and very quiet. There was a balance
in his nature that I have ever lacked. I rejoice even now in his love of
justice. Fair play meant with him something more than fair play for the
sake of sport--it meant as well fair play for the sake of justice.
Temperate to the point of caring always for his body's welfare, as
regular in his habits as he was in his promises and their fulfillments,
kindling readily enough at any risk, though never boasting--I always
admired him, and trust I may be pardoned for saying so. I fear that at
the time I mention now I admired him most for his strength and courage.