telling you.  If there was a horse-race, you’d find him flush or you’d find him busted at the end of it; if there was a dog-fight, he’d bet on it; if there was a cat-fight, he’d bet on it; if there was a chicken-fight, he’d bet on it; why, if there was two birds setting on a fence, he would bet you which one would fly first; or if there was a camp-meeting, he would be there reg’lar to bet on Parson Walker, which he judged to be the best exhorter about here, and so he was too, and a good man.  If he even see a straddle-bug start to go anywheres, he would bet you how long it would take him to get to—­to wherever he was going to, and if you took him up, he would foller that straddle-bug to Mexico but what he would find out where he was bound for and how long he was on the road.  Lots of the boys here has seen that Smiley, and can tell you about him.  Why, it never made no difference to him—­he’d bet on any thing—­the dangdest feller.  Parson Walker’s wife laid very sick once, for a good while, and it seemed as if they warn’t going to save her; but one morning he come in, and Smiley up and asked him how she was, and he said she was considerable better—­thank the Lord for his inf’nite mercy—­and coming on so smart that with the blessing of Prov’dence she’d get well yet; and Smiley, before he thought, says, ’Well, I’ll resk two-and-a-half she don’t anyway.’

“Thish-yer Smiley had a mare—­the boys called her the fifteen-minute nag, but that was only in fun, you know, because of course she was faster than that—­and he used to win money on that horse, for all she was so slow and always had the asthma, or the distemper, or the consumption, or something of that kind.  They used to give her two or three hundred yards’ start, and then pass her under way; but always at the fag end of the race she 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 among 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 warn’t worth a cent but to set around and look ornery and lay for a chance to steal something.  But as soon as 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 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