Ward spoiled a mighty good blacksmith when he put you on a horse." Then he turned to me. "Is he the one that throwed Woodford's club-footed nigger in the wrastle at Roy's tavern?"
"Yes," I said, "but one time it was a dog-fall, and Lem Marks says that Malan slipped the other time."
"But he did n't slip," put in Jud. "He tried to lift me, an' I knee-locked him. Then I could a throwed him if he 'd been as big as a Polled-Angus heifer."
"Was you wrastling back-holts or breeches-holts?" asked old Simon, getting up from his chair.
"Back-holts," replied Jud.
The waggon-maker nodded his head. Doubtless in the early time he had occasion to learn the respective virtues of these two celebrated methods.
"That 's best if your back 's best," he said; "but I reckon you ain't willing to let it go with a dog-fall. You might get another chance at him to-morrow. I saw him go up the road about noon."
