As I Lay Dying
The stall door has swung shut. Jewel thrusts it back with his buttocks and he appears, his back arched, the muscles ridged through his garments as he drags the horse out by its head. In the glare its eyes roll with soft, fleet, wild opaline fire; its muscles bunch and run as it flings its head about, lifting Jewel clear of the ground. He drags it on, slowly, terrifically; again he gives me across his shoulder a single glare furious and brief. (50.5)
It just cracked. It wouldn’t come off.
"It’ll take the hide, too," Mr. Gillespie said. "Why in the tarnation you put it on there? Didn’t none of you think to grease his leg first?"
"I just aimed to help him," pa said. "It was Darl put it on."
"Where is Darl?" they said.
"Didn’t none of you have more sense than that?" Mr. Gillespie said. "I’d ‘a’ thought he would anyway."
Jewel was lying on his face. (51.13-8)
"I reckon he ought to be there," pa says. "God knows, it’s a trial on me. Seems like it ain’t no end to bad luck when once it starts." (53.7)