When he was a youngster bumming around the coal fields of the West a generation ago, big, red-headed John Llewellyn Lewis once had the job of driving a mine mule named Spanish Pete. Pete was a mankiller. Rounding a tunnel curve one day, the creature slewed around, reared, raised its hoofs, prepared to bash Lewis against the mine wall. Young John had just enough time to spike Pete between the eyes with the point of the sprag of his coal car. To avoid imminent fine and dismissal, the young mine worker rubbed...
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