"There comes the jedge," said the colonel, pointing to a cloud of dust
following a two-wheel gig, "and Major Yancey behind on horseback."
(They had both been dropped outside their respective garden gates the
night before.) "Now, gentlemen, as soon as my attorney arrives with
the surveys and deeds we will adjourn to my library and locate this
coal-field."
Yancey's horse proved, on closer inspection, to be the remnant of an
army mule with a moth-eaten mane and a polished tail bare of hair--worn
off, no doubt, in a lifelong struggle with the Fairfax County fly. The
major was without the luxury of a saddle, some one having borrowed the
only one the owner of the mule possessed, and his breeches, in
consequence, were half way up his knees. The judge arrived in better
shape, the gig being his own and fairly comfortable,--the same he rode
to circuit, a yellow-painted vehicle washed only when it rained,--and
the horse the property of the village livery man, who had a yearly
contract with his Honor for its use.
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