but I had moods when I felt things.
One of Black's big wool teams was just coming away from the shed,
and the driver, a big, dark, rough fellow, with some foreign blood in him,
didn't seem inclined to wheel his team an inch out of the middle of the road.
I stopped my horses and waited. He looked at me and I looked at him -- hard.
Then he wheeled off, scowling, and swearing at his horses.
I'd given him a hiding, six or seven years before, and he hadn't forgotten it.
And I felt then as if I wouldn't mind trying to give some one a hiding.
Original article by {website name}. If reprinted, please indicate the source: http://jchkz.szyxsqc.com/news/184f499562.html
