The dark bay horse—as fine a specimen of equine beauty and worth as ever came from the famed Blue Grass regions—ridden by the Postboy of the Kanawha, came to a standstill simultaneously with the utterance of the earnest, pleading tone, knowing in its almost human intelligence that its rider would be challenged at this particular spot and the question repeated which had been asked daily without variation for six months. Little Snap had expected it, and on the watch, had discovered, a quarter of a mile back, a tall, gaunt figure clothed in skins and leaning heavily on a gnarled staff, standing by the wayside, under the shadows of a huge live oak.…
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