she'd get excited and desperate-like, and come cavorting and
straddling up, and scattering her legs around limber, sometimes in the
air, and sometimes out to one side amongst the fences, and kicking up
m-o-r-e dust, and raising m-o-r-e racket with her coughing and sneezing
and blowing her nose--and always fetch up at the stand just about a neck
ahead, as near as you could cipher it down.

And he had a little small bull pup, that to look at him you'd think he
wan't worth a cent, but to set around and look ornery, and lay for a
chance to steal something. But as soon as the money was up on him, he
was a different dog; his under-jaw'd begin to stick out like the
fo'castle of a steamboat, and his teeth would uncover, and shine savage
like the furnaces. And a dog might tackle him, and bully-rag him, and
bite him, and throw him over his shoulder two or three times, and Andrew
Jackson--which was the name of the pup--Andrew Jackson would never let
on but what _he_ was satisfied, and hadn't expected nothing else--and
the bets being doubled and doubled on the other side all the time, till
the money was all up; and then all of a sudden he would grab that other
dog jest by the j'int of his hind leg and freeze to it--not chaw, you
understand, but only jest grip and hang on till they throwed up the
sponge, if it was a year. Smiley always come out winner on that pup,
till he harnessed a dog once that didn't have no hind legs, because
they'd been sawed off by a circular saw, and when the thing had gone
along far enough, and the money was all up, and he come to make a snatch
for his pet holt, he saw in a minute how he'd been imposed on, and how
the other dog had him in the door, so to speak, and he 'peared
surprised, and then he looked sorter discouraged-like, and didn't try no
more to win the fight, and so he got shucked out bad. He give Smiley a
look, as much as to say his heart was broke, and it was _his_ fault, for
putting up a dog that hadn't no hind legs for him to take holt of, which
was his main dependence in a fight, and then he limped off a piece and
laid down and died. It was a good pup, was that Andrew Jackson, and
would have made a name for hisself if he'd lived, for the stuff was in
him, and he had genius--I know it, because he hadn't had no
opportunities to speak of, and it don't stand to reason that a dog could
make such a fight as he could under them circumstances, if he hadn't no
talent. It always makes me feel sorry whe