G'on 'way f'um hyuh, you
Abalene! You cain' sell an' you cain' give Whitey to no cullud
man 'n 'is town. You go an' drowned 'at ole hoss, 'cause you
sutny goin' to jail if you git ketched drivin' him."
The substance of this advice seemed good to Abalene, especially
as the seventeen dollars and sixty cents in his pocket lent sweet
colours to life out of jail at this time. At dusk he led Whitey
to a broad common at the edge of town, and spoke to him finally.
"G'on 'bout you biz'nis," said Abalene; "you ain' MY hoss. Don'
look roun'at me, 'cause _I_ ain't got no 'quaintance wif you. I'm
a man o' money, an' I got my own frien's; I'm a-lookin' fer
bigger cities, hoss. You got you biz'nis an' I got mine. Mista'
Hoss, good-night!"
Whitey found a little frosted grass upon the common and remained
there all night. In the morning he sought the shed where Abalene
had kept him; but that was across the large and busy town, and
Whitey was hopelessly lost. He had but one eye, a feeble one, and
his legs were not to be depended upon; but he managed to cover a
great deal of ground, to have many painful little adventures, and
to get monstrously hungry and thirsty before he happened to look
in upon Penrod and Sam.
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