If that bull had any imagination, he must have thought me a traveller from other worlds, the man from Mars just arriving; for in the darkness he hadn’t seen me swing from the train.  In fact, his first words were:  “Where did you come from?” His next words, and before I had time to answer, were:  “I’ve a good mind to run you in.”  This latter, I am convinced, was likewise automatic.  He was a really good bull at heart, for after I had told him a “story” and helped brush off his clothes, he gave me until the next freight to get out of town.  I stipulated two things:  first, that the freight be east-bound, and second, that it should not be a through freight with all doors sealed and locked.  To this he agreed, and thus, by the terms of the Treaty of Bristol, I escaped being pinched.

I remember another night, in that part of the country, when I just missed another bull.  If I had hit him, I’d have telescoped him, for I was coming down from above, all holds free, with several other bulls one jump behind and reaching for me.  This is how it happened.  I had been lodging in a livery stable in Washington.  I had a box-stall and unnumbered horse-blankets all to myself.  In return for such sumptuous accommodation I took care of a string of horses each morning.  I might have been there yet, if it hadn’t been for the bulls.

One evening, about nine o’clock, I returned to the stable to go to bed, and found a crap game in full blast.  It had been a market day, and all the negroes had money.  It would be well to explain the lay of the land.  The livery stable faced on two streets.  I entered the front, passed through the office, and came to the alley between two rows of stalls that ran the length of the building and opened out on the other street.  Midway along this alley, beneath a gas-jet and between the rows of horses, were about forty negroes.  I joined them as an onlooker.  I was broke and couldn’t play.  A coon was making passes and not dragging down.  He was riding his luck, and with each pass the total stake doubled.  All kinds of money lay on the floor.  It was fascinating.  With each pass, the chances increased tremendously against the coon making another pass.  The excitement was intense.  And just then there came a thundering smash on the big doors that opened on the back street.

A few of the negroes bolted in the opposite direction.  I paused from my flight a moment to grab at the all kinds of money on the floor.  This wasn’t theft:  it was merely custom.  Every man who hadn’t run was grabbing.  The doors crashed open and swung in, and through them surged a squad of bulls.  We surged the other way.  It was dark in the office, and the narrow door would not permit all of us to pass out to the street at the same time.  Things became congested.  A coon took a dive through the window, taking the sash along with him and followed by other coons.  At our rear, the bulls were nailing prisoners.  A big coon and myself made a dash at the door at the same