Moreover, he don't hop, your horned toad don't, like
them Eastern toads; he stands up on his toes an' paces--he's what
we-all calls on the Ohio River back in my childhood's sunny hours,
"a side-wheeler." Also, he's got a tail. An' as for sperit, let me
tell you this:--I has a horned toad where I'm camped over by the
Tres Hermanas, where I'm deer-huntin'. I wins that toad's love from
the jump with hunks of bread an' salt hoss an' kindred del'cacies.
He dotes on me. When time hangs heavy, I entertains myse'f with a
dooel between Augustus--Augustus bein' the horned toad's name--, an'
a empty sardine box for which he entertains resentments.
"'"Lay for him, Augustus!" I'd say, at the same instant battin' him
in the nose with the box.
"'Of course, Augustus ain't got savey enough to realize I does it.
He allows it's the box that a-way makin' malev'lent bluffs at him.
An' say, pards, it would have made you proud of your country an' its
starry flag to see Augustus arch himse'f for war on them o'casions.
"'Not that Augustus is malignant or evil disposed, nacheral. No,
sir; I've yet to meet up with the toad who has his simple, even,
gen'rous temper or lovin' heart; as trustful too, Augustus is, as
the babe jest born.
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