The tobacco-stained fingers of a rough pink hand toyed briefly with a gold, American Waltham Watch Company pocket watch before slapping it on the unfinished pine tabletop in the Jedediah’s Big House Saloon and spitting brown tobacco juice into a just-emptied rocks glass.

“Put it away Jesse. Wouldn’t become a man of high standin’ such as myself to be takin’ yer watch and chain over a hasty and imprudent wager, such as this’n.”

“Ain’t askin’ for you to take my watch, mister. I’m askin’ you to take my bet.”

Now Easy Alan and Santo had pulled up two unsteady stools to the pinewood table to see the anticipated and familiar puffing of chests and boasting and hemming and hawing and calling of terms and transacting. For surely, thought the pair, at least two impartial witnesses were needed in cases such as these – for the carrying out of terms and the holding of folks accountable; and as close as it was to daybreak, three would be safer.

“Now I swear I saw it, and here you sit. And you question what? -- these two keen eyes of mine? Look into these eyes Jed. Even at this time a night, with the contents of this here bottle sloshing around my guts, I kin see twice what any other sonofabitch in this town kin. Seems to me you don’t rightly recollect that 12 pointer I dropped and hauled in here early August. Or is it, I ask you, could it be that you call my recollection into question, oh I recollect plenty Jed. Oh didn’t you wish I recollected a piece less, or had a piece less to recollect. You know--“

“Now don’t, Jess—“

“Or is it – and let me ask you this. Do you think me incapable, incapacitated—that is to say, is it my very congress with the veracity of matters and with the actuality of affairs that you defame with your knobby pointing trigger finger?”

“That congress been out of session for a measure, I’d venture to say at the low-end since Frank Pierce left office,” squawked Easy Alan’s beaky mouth.

“I wouldn’t trust your adjudications of any man’s sanity, toward his capacities and capabilities for the recognizin’ of veracities further than I could throw that lazy jackass of yours. Do tell me, Al—say now, what brings a sane and levelheaded fellow, a fellow such as yerself of course, to keep his farm animals warm and dry and well-fed for the sole and only pleasure of their conversation?”

The tan nostril’s of Alan’s aquiline nose flared. He’d had a special affection for the animal, which’d been foaled the same day as his anticipated child (a son) was stillborn.

“Archibald’s a good animal, and hell’va lot stronger’n’ ol' Hordor. Smarter too, ‘course.”

Jesse spit another gob of tobacco juice into the glass. His upper lip curled into a slight snarl, then a moment later tightened and turned up slightly at the corners to form a smirk.

“Well then I’ve got a proposition for ya,’ Al.”

And so in this way, Jesse and Easy Alan shook hands and entered into a bet. Each man felt the tingling sensation in his gut that impresses a man with a type of physical foreknowledge.

“You’ve got a rock-solid lock,” says the gut tingle to the men.

“Let’s have a couple whiskies, Jed.”

The stakes were, on Jesse’s end—the aforementioned gold watch (20 ct.) and it’s ‘18 carrot gold chain’, which was, in fact, a mere 14. Easy Alan had wagered Archy, a six year old donkey, but in his boozy confidence, he could have just as easily wagered his 35 year old wife; though to say she was ‘his’ would be to ignore certain facts of the matter—facts Easy Alan did indeed prefer to ignore, and whisky sure did help with the ignorance.

The wager was on a contest of strength that would soon be arranged. A simpleton, name of Hordor, would be fitted and hitched to a loaded, 20-foot cart, and he was meant to haul more than the donkey, Archibald, was shown able to haul.

If Easy Alan had been the type who’s quick to feel a pang of guilt for taking a man’s gold watch in a bet that he couldn’t lose, he would’ve thought twice before spitting and shaking hands. Neither he nor Jesse were the type, though. You could see it on their faces if you looked.

Draining his whisky, Easy Alan stood and strutted toward the door. On his way out, he took a chair and raised it above his head, feigning struggle.

“Hordor. Hordor,” he mocked, in a hoarse, out-of-breath voice.

This was the only word Hordor was known to speak. But as in many cases heard and retold of such simple folks, this man of linguistic incapacity was indeed capable of much. Jesse had, two mornings prior, watched as Hordor stepped with an axe to a pine tree, two and a half feet through the middle by at least a hundred tall. All of his own strength, Hordor cut through in a single swing and, without a second thought or even a grunt, dragged the fallen giant to his farm.