rain, hail and snow, to get a nipper, fill his jug,
and go home. Now, in the West it is a custom more honored in the breach
than in the observance, perhaps, for grog shops of the village to play
all sorts of fantastic tricks upon old codgers who come up to town, or
down to town, hitch their horses to the fence, and there let the
"critters" stand, from 10 A. M. to 12 P. M., more or less, and longer.
The most popular dodge is, to shave the horse's tail, turn it loose,
and let it go home. Of course, _that_ horse is not soon seen in the
village again, as a horse with a shored tail is about the meanest thing
to look at, except a singed possum, or a dandy--you ever did see.

One very cold night, in January, '39, Jake Hinkle came down to the
"Court House," hitched his horse to the Court Square fence, and made a
straight bend for Sanders' "Grocery," and began to "wood up." Old Jake's
tongue was a perfect bell-clapper, and when well oiled with corn juice,
could rip into the high and low Dutch like a nor'easter into a field of
broom corn. Jake talked and talked, and drank and talked, and about
midnight, the cocks crowing, the stars winking and blinking, and the
wind nipping and whistling around the grocery, Sanders notified Jake and
others that he was going to shut up the concern, and the crowd must be
"putting out." Jake made a break for his nag, but she was gone. "Why,"
says Jake, "she's broke der pridle and gone home, and by skure I shall
walk,"--and off Jake put, through the cold and mud.

Next morning, when the Circleville stage came along between old Marm
Rodger's "bottom," and the Rattle Snake Fork of Paint, the driver
discovered poor old Jake laid out, stiff and cold as a wedge! Alas, poor
old Jake! Gone! Quite a gloom hung over the "grocery;" Jake was an
inoffensive, good old fellow, nobody denied that, and certain young
"fellers" who had shaved the tail of Jake's mare the night previous, and
set her loose, now felt sort of sorry for the deed. The editor of the
"Argus of Freedom" came down to the "grocery," to get his morning "nip,"
heard the news, went back to his office, "set up" Jake's obituary
notice, pitched in a few sorrowful phrases, and then put his paper to
press; that afternoon, the whole edition, of some two hundred copies,
were distributed around among the subscribers and "dead heads," and Jake
Hinkle was pronounced stone dead--_pegged out!_

Two or three days afterwards, a man covered with mud and sweat, c