"I know," he continued, "a story." "Yes ?" "Yes, about a man and a hoss and a dog." "The approach seems not quite obvious, but I shall be glad to hear it." There was a pause.
"Words," said the host, at length, "is worse'n bullets.

You never know what they'll hit." "But the story ?" persisted Randall Byrne.
"That story," said Hank Dwight, "I may tell to my son before I die." "This sounds quite promising." "But I'll tell nobody else." "Really!" "It's about a man and a hoss and a dog.

The man ain't possible, the hoss ain't possible, the dog is a wolf." He paused again and glowered on the doctor.

He seemed to be drawn two ways, by his eagerness to tell a yarn and his dread of consequences.
"I know," he muttered, "because I've seen 'em all.

I've seen"-- he looked far, as though striking a silent bargain with himself concerning the sum of the story which might safely be told--"I've seen a hoss that understood a man's talk like you and me does--or better.