Blood was dropping from its mouth.

Dave pointed it out, and Dad opened the brute's jaws and examined them.

No teeth were there.

He looked on the ground round about--none there either.

He looked at the horse's mouth again, then hit him viciously with his clenched fist and said, "The old -- --, he never DID have any!" At length he unharnessed the brute as it lay--pulled the winkers off, hurled them at its head, kicked it once--twice--three times--and the furrow-horse jumped up, trotted away triumphantly, and joyously rolled in the dam where all our water came from, drinking-water included.
Dad went straightaway to Smith's place, and told Smith he was a dirty, mean, despicable swindler--or something like that.