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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/19824-8.txt b/19824-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8232bca --- /dev/null +++ b/19824-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4293 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Horses Nine, by Sewell Ford + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Horses Nine + Stories of Harness and Saddle + +Author: Sewell Ford + +Release Date: November 16, 2006 [EBook #19824] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HORSES NINE *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +[Illustration: By one desperate leap he shook himself clear. (Page 263.)] + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +HORSES NINE + +STORIES OF HARNESS AND SADDLE + +BY +SEWELL FORD + +ILLUSTRATED + +NEW YORK +CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS +1905 + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Copyright, 1903, by +CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS + +Published, March, 1903 + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +TROW DIRECTORY +PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY +NEW YORK + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +CONTENTS + Page + +SKIPPER 1 +Being the Biography of a Blue-Ribboner. + +CALICO 31 +Who Travelled with a Round Top. + +OLD SILVER 67 +A Story of the Gray Horse Truck. + +BLUE BLAZES 95 +And the Marring of Him. + +CHIEFTAIN 125 +A Story of the Heavy Draught Service. + +BARNACLES 157 +Who Mutinied for Good Cause. + +BLACK EAGLE 181 +Who Once Ruled the Ranges. + +BONFIRE 215 +Broken for the House of Jerry. + +PASHA 241 +The Son of Selim. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +[Illustration] + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + +By Frederic Dorr Steele and L. Maynard Dixon + +By one desperate leap he shook himself clear Frontispiece + + FACING PAGE + +There were many heavy wagons 6 + +For many weary months Skipper pulled that crazy cart 24 + +He would do his best to steady them down to the work 130 + +Then let him snake a truck down West Street 144 + +"Come, boy. Come, Pasha," insisted the man on the ground 266 + +Mr. Dave kept his seat more by force of +muscular habit than anything else 268 + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + +SKIPPER + +BEING THE BIOGRAPHY OF A BLUE-RIBBONER + + +At the age of six Skipper went on the force. Clean of limb and sound of +wind he was, with not a blemish from the tip of his black tail to the +end of his crinkly forelock. He had been broken to saddle by a Green +Mountain boy who knew more of horse nature than of the trashy things +writ in books. He gave Skipper kind words and an occasional friendly pat +on the flank. So Skipper's disposition was sweet and his nature a +trusting one. + +This is why Skipper learned so soon the ways of the city. The first time +he saw one of those little wheeled houses, all windows and full of +people, come rushing down the street with a fearful whirr and clank of +bell, he wanted to bolt. But the man on his back spoke in an easy, calm +voice, saying, "So-o-o! There, me b'y. Aisy wid ye. So-o-o!" which was +excellent advice, for the queer contrivance whizzed by and did him no +harm. In a week he could watch one without even pricking up his ears. + +It was strange work Skipper had been brought to the city to do. As a +colt he had seen horses dragging ploughs, pulling big loads of hay, and +hitched to many kinds of vehicles. He himself had drawn a light buggy +and thought it good fun, though you did have to keep your heels down and +trot instead of canter. He had liked best to lope off with the boy on +his back, down to the Corners, where the store was. + +But here there were no ploughs, nor hay-carts, nor mowing-machines. +There were many heavy wagons, it was true, but these were all drawn by +stocky Percherons and big Western grays or stout Canada blacks who +seemed fully equal to the task. + +Also there were carriages--my, what shiny carriages! And what smart, +sleek-looking horses drew them! And how high they did hold their heads +and how they did throw their feet about--just as if they were dancing on +eggs. + +"Proud, stuck-up things," thought Skipper. + +It was clear that none of this work was for him. Early on the first +morning of his service men in brass-buttoned blue coats came to the +stable to feed and rub down the horses. Skipper's man had two names. One +was Officer Martin; at least that was the one to which he answered when +the man with the cap called the roll before they rode out for duty. The +other name was "Reddy." That was what the rest of the men in blue coats +called him. Skipper noticed that he had red hair and concluded that +"Reddy" must be his real name. + +As for Skipper's name, it was written on the tag tied to the halter +which he wore when he came to the city. Skipper heard him read it. The +boy on the farm had done that, and Skipper was glad, for he liked the +name. + +There was much to learn in those first few weeks, and Skipper learned it +quickly. He came to know that at inspection, which began the day, you +must stand with your nose just on a line with that of the horse on +either side. If you didn't you felt the bit or the spurs. He mastered +the meaning of "right dress," "left dress," "forward," "fours right," +and a lot of other things. Some of them were very strange. + +[Illustration: There were many heavy wagons.] + +Now on the farm they had said, "Whoa, boy," and "Gid a-a-ap." Here they +said, "Halt" and "Forward!" But "Reddy" used none of these terms. He +pressed with his knees on your withers, loosened the reins, and made a +queer little chirrup when he wanted you to gallop. He let you know when +he wanted you to stop, by the lightest pressure on the bit. + +It was a lazy work, though. Sometimes when Skipper was just aching for a +brisk canter he had to pace soberly through the park driveways--for +Skipper, although I don't believe I mentioned it before, was part and +parcel of the mounted police force. But there, you could know that by +the yellow letters on his saddle blanket. + +For half an hour at a time he would stand, just on the edge of the +roadway and at an exact right angle with it, motionless as the horse +ridden by the bronze soldier up near the Mall. "Reddy" would sit as +still in the saddle, too. It was hard for Skipper to stand there and see +those mincing cobs go by, their pad-housings all a-glitter, crests on +their blinders, jingling their pole-chains and switching their absurd +little stubs of tails. But it was still more tantalizing to watch the +saddle-horses canter past in the soft bridle path on the other side of +the roadway. But then, when you are on the force you must do your duty. + +One afternoon as Skipper was standing post like this he caught a new +note that rose above the hum of the park traffic. It was the quick, +nervous beat of hoofs which rang sharply on the hard macadam. There were +screams, too. It was a runaway. Skipper knew this even before he saw the +bell-like nostrils, the straining eyes, and the foam-flecked lips of +the horse, or the scared man in the carriage behind. It was a case of +broken rein. + +How the sight made Skipper's blood tingle! Wouldn't he just like to show +that crazy roan what real running was! But what was Reddy going to do? +He felt him gather up the reins. He felt his knees tighten. What! Yes, +it must be so. Reddy was actually going to try a brush with the runaway. +What fun! + +Skipper pranced out into the roadway and gathered himself for the sport. +Before he could get into full swing, however, the roan had shot past +with a snort of challenge which could not be misunderstood. + +"Oho! You will, eh?" thought Skipper. "Well now, we'll see about that." + +Ah, a free rein! That is--almost free. And a touch of the spurs! No need +for that, Reddy. How the carriages scatter! Skipper caught hasty +glimpses of smart hackneys drawn up trembling by the roadside, of women +who tumbled from bicycles into the bushes, and of men who ran and +shouted and waved their hats. + +"Just as though that little roan wasn't scared enough already," thought +Skipper. + +But she did run well; Skipper had to admit that. She had a lead of fifty +yards before he could strike his best gait. Then for a few moments he +could not seem to gain an inch. But the mare was blowing herself and +Skipper was taking it coolly. He was putting the pent-up energy of weeks +into his strides. Once he saw he was overhauling her he steadied to the +work. + +Just as Skipper was about to forge ahead, Reddy did a queer thing. With +his right hand he grabbed the roan with a nose-pinch grip, and with the +left he pulled in on the reins. It was a great disappointment to +Skipper, for he had counted on showing the roan his heels. Skipper knew, +after two or three experiences of this kind, that this was the usual +thing. + +Those were glorious runs, though. Skipper wished they would come more +often. Sometimes there would be two and even three in a day. Then a +fortnight or so would pass without a single runaway on Skipper's beat. +But duty is duty. + +During the early morning hours, when there were few people in the park, +Skipper's education progressed. He learned to pace around in a circle, +lifting each forefoot with a sway of the body and a pawing movement +which was quite rhythmical. He learned to box with his nose. He learned +to walk sedately behind Reddy and to pick up a glove, dropped apparently +by accident. There was always a sugar-plum or a sweet cracker in the +glove, which he got when Reddy stopped and Skipper, poking his nose over +his shoulder, let the glove fall into his hands. + +As he became more accomplished he noticed that "Reddy" took more pains +with his toilet. Every morning Skipper's coat was curried and brushed +and rubbed with chamois until it shone almost as if it had been +varnished. His fetlocks were carefully trimmed, a ribbon braided into +his forelock, and his hoofs polished as brightly as Reddy's boots. Then +there were apples and carrots and other delicacies which Reddy brought +him. + +So it happened that one morning Skipper heard the Sergeant tell Reddy +that he had been detailed for the Horse Show squad. Reddy had saluted +and said nothing at the time, but when they were once out on post he +told Skipper all about it. + +"Sure an' it's app'arin' before all the swells in town you'll be, me +b'y. Phat do ye think of that, eh? An' mebbe ye'll be gettin' a blue +ribbon, Skipper, me lad; an' mebbe Mr. Patrick Martin will have a +roundsman's berth an' chevrons on his sleeves afore the year's out." + +The Horse Show was all that Reddy had promised, and more. The light +almost dazzled Skipper. The sounds and the smells confused him. But he +felt Reddy on his back, heard him chirrup softly, and soon felt at ease +on the tanbark. + +Then there was a great crash of noise and Skipper, with some fifty of +his friends on the force, began to move around the circle. First it was +fours abreast, then by twos, and then a rush to troop front, when, in a +long line, they swept around as if they had been harnessed to a beam by +traces of equal length. + +After some more evolutions a half-dozen were picked out and put through +their paces. Skipper was one of these. Then three of the six were sent +to join the rest of the squad. Only Skipper and two others remained in +the centre of the ring. Men in queer clothes, wearing tall black hats, +showing much white shirt-front and carrying long whips, came and looked +them over carefully. + +Skipper showed these men how he could waltz in time to the music, and +the people who banked the circle as far up as Skipper could see shouted +and clapped their hands until it seemed as if a thunderstorm had broken +loose. At last one of the men in tall hats tied a blue ribbon on +Skipper's bridle. + +When Reddy got him into the stable, he fed him four big red apples, one +after the other. Next day Skipper knew that he was a famous horse. Reddy +showed him their pictures in the paper. + +For a whole year Skipper was the pride of the force. He was shown to +visitors at the stables. He was patted on the nose by the Mayor. The +Chief, who was a bigger man than the Mayor, came up especially to look +at him. In the park Skipper did his tricks every day for ladies in fine +dress who exclaimed, "How perfectly wonderful!" as well as for pretty +nurse-maids who giggled and said, "Now did you ever see the likes o' +that, Norah?" + +And then came the spavin. Ah, but that was the beginning of the end! +Were you ever spavined? If so, you know all about it. If you haven't, +there's no use trying to tell you. Rheumatism? Well, that may be bad; +but a spavin is worse. + +For three weeks Reddy rubbed the lump on the hock with stuff from a +brown bottle, and hid it from the inspector. Then, one black morning, +the lump was discovered. That day Skipper did not go out on post. Reddy +came into the stall, put his arm around his neck and said "Good-by" in a +voice that Skipper had never heard him use before. Something had made it +thick and husky. Very sadly Skipper saw him saddle one of the newcomers +and go out for duty. + +Before Reddy came back Skipper was led away. He was taken to a big +building where there were horses of every kind--except the right kind. +Each one had his own peculiar "out," although you couldn't always tell +what it was at first glance. + +But Skipper did not stay here long. He was led into a big ring before a +lot of men. A man on a box shouted out a number, and began to talk very +fast. Skipper gathered that he was talking about him. Skipper learned +that he was still only six years old, and that he had been owned as a +saddle-horse by a lady who was about to sail for Europe and was closing +out her stable. This was news to Skipper. He wished Reddy could hear it. + +The man talked very nicely about Skipper. He said he was kind, gentle, +sound in wind and limb, and was not only trained to the saddle but would +work either single or double. The man wanted to know how much the +gentlemen were willing to pay for a bay gelding of this description. + +Someone on the outer edge of the crowd said, "Ten dollars." + +At this the man on the box grew quite indignant. He asked if the other +man wouldn't like a silver-mounted harness and a lap-robe thrown in. + +"Fifteen," said another man. + +Somebody else said "Twenty," another man said, "Twenty-five," and still +another, "Thirty." Then there was a hitch. The man on the box began to +talk very fast indeed: + +"Thutty-thutty-thutty-thutty--do I hear the five? +Thutty-thutty-thutty-thutty--will you make it five?" + +"Thirty-five," said a red-faced man who had pushed his way to the front +and was looking Skipper over sharply. + +The man on the box said "Thutty-five" a good many times and asked if he +"heard forty." Evidently he did not, for he stopped and said very slowly +and distinctly, looking expectantly around: "Are you all done? +Thirty-five--once. Thirty-five--twice. Third--and last call--sold, for +thirty-five dollars!" + +When Skipper heard this he hung his head. When you have been a $250 +blue-ribboner and the pride of the force it is sad to be "knocked down" +for thirty-five. + +The next year of Skipper's life was a dark one. We will not linger over +it. The red-faced man who led him away was a grocer. He put Skipper in +the shafts of a heavy wagon very early every morning and drove him a +long ways through the city to a big down-town market where men in long +frocks shouted and handled boxes and barrels. When the wagon was heavily +loaded the red-faced man drove him back to the store. Then a tow-haired +boy, who jerked viciously on the lines and was fond of using the whip, +drove him recklessly about the streets and avenues. + +But one day the tow-haired boy pulled the near rein too hard while +rounding a corner and a wheel was smashed against a lamp-post. The +tow-haired boy was sent head first into an ash-barrel, and Skipper, +rather startled at the occurrence, took a little run down the avenue, +strewing the pavement with eggs, sugar, canned corn, celery, and other +assorted groceries. + +Perhaps this was why the grocer sold him. Skipper pulled a cart through +the flat-house district for a while after that. On the seat of the cart +sat a leather-lunged man who roared: "A-a-a-a-puls! Nice a-a-a-a-puls! A +who-o-ole lot fer a quarter!" + +Skipper felt this disgrace keenly. Even the cab-horses, on whom he used +to look with disdain, eyed him scornfully. Skipper stood it as long as +possible and then one day, while the apple fakir was standing on the +back step of the cart shouting things at a woman who was leaning half +way out of a fourth-story window, he bolted. He distributed that load of +apples over four blocks, much to the profit of the street children, and +he wrecked the wagon on a hydrant. For this the fakir beat him with a +piece of the wreckage until a blue-coated officer threatened to arrest +him. Next day Skipper was sold again. + +Skipper looked over his new owner without joy. The man was evil of face. +His long whiskers and hair were unkempt and sun-bleached, like the tip +end of a pastured cow's tail. His clothes were greasy. His voice was +like the grunt of a pig. Skipper wondered to what use this man would put +him. He feared the worst. + +Far up through the city the man took him and out on a broad avenue where +there were many open spaces, most of them fenced in by huge bill-boards. +Behind one of these sign-plastered barriers Skipper found his new home. +The bottom of the lot was more than twenty feet below the street-level. +In the centre of a waste of rocks, ash-heaps, and dead weeds tottered a +group of shanties, strangely made of odds and ends. The walls were +partly of mud-chinked rocks and partly of wood. The roofs were patched +with strips of rusty tin held in place by stones. + +Into one of these shanties, just tall enough for Skipper to enter and no +more, the horse that had been the pride of the mounted park police was +driven with a kick as a greeting. Skipper noted first that there was no +feed-box and no hayrack. Then he saw, or rather felt--for the only light +came through cracks in the walls--that there was no floor. His nostrils +told him that the drainage was bad. Skipper sighed as he thought of the +clean, sweet straw which Reddy used to change in his stall every night. + +But when you have a lump on your leg--a lump that throbs, throbs, throbs +with pain, whether you stand still or lie down--you do not think much on +other things. + +Supper was late in coming to Skipper that night. He was almost starved +when it was served. And such a supper! What do you think? Hay? Yes, but +marsh hay; the dry, tasteless stuff they use for bedding in cheap +stables. A ton of it wouldn't make a pound of good flesh. Oats? Not a +sign of an oat! But with the hay there were a few potato-peelings. +Skipper nosed them out and nibbled the marsh hay. The rest he pawed back +under him, for the whole had been thrown at his feet. Then he dropped on +the ill-smelling ground and went to sleep to dream that he had been +turned into a forty-acre field of clover, while a dozen brass bands +played a waltz and multitudes of people looked on and cheered. + +In the morning more salt hay was thrown to him and water was brought in +a dirty pail. Then, without a stroke of brush or curry-comb he was led +out. When he saw the wagon to which he was to be hitched Skipper hung +his head. He had reached the bottom. It was unpainted and rickety as to +body and frame, the wheels were unmated and dished, while the shafts +were spliced and wound with wire. + +But worst of all was the string of bells suspended from two uprights +above the seat. When Skipper saw these he knew he had fallen low indeed. +He had become the horse of a wandering junkman. The next step in his +career, as he well knew, would be the glue factory and the boneyard. +Now when a horse has lived for twenty years or so, it is sad enough to +face these things. But at eight years to see the glue factory close at +hand is enough to make a horse wish he had never been foaled. + +For many weary months Skipper pulled that crazy cart, with its hateful +jangle of bells, about the city streets and suburban roads while the man +with the faded hair roared through his matted beard: "Buy o-o-o-o-olt +ra-a-a-a-ags! Buy o-o-o-o-olt ra-a-a-a-ags! Olt boddles! Olt copper! Olt +iron! Vaste baber!" + +[Illustration: For many weary months Skipper pulled that crazy cart.] + +The lump on Skipper's hock kept growing bigger and bigger. It seemed as +if the darts of pain shot from hoof to flank with every step. Big +hollows came over his eyes. You could see his ribs as plainly as the +hoops on a pork-barrel. Yet six days in the week he went on long trips +and brought back heavy loads of junk. On Sunday he hauled the junkman +and his family about the city. + +Once the junkman tried to drive Skipper into one of the Park entrances. +Then for the first time in his life Skipper balked. The junkman pounded +and used such language as you might expect from a junkman, but all to no +use. Skipper took the beating with lowered head, but go through the gate +he would not. So the junkman gave it up, although he seemed very +anxious to join the line of gay carriages which were rolling in. + +Soon after this there came a break in the daily routine. One morning +Skipper was not led out as usual. In fact, no one came near him, and he +could hear no voices in the nearby shanty. Skipper decided that he +would take a day off himself. By backing against the door he readily +pushed it open, for the staple was insecure. + +Once at liberty, he climbed the roadway that led out of the lot. It was +late in the fall, but there was still short sweet winter grass to be +found along the gutters. For a while he nibbled at this hungrily. Then a +queer idea came to Skipper. Perhaps the passing of a smartly groomed +saddle-horse was responsible. + +At any rate, Skipper left off nibbling grass. He hobbled out to the edge +of the road, turned so as to face the opposite side, and held up his +head. There he stood just as he used to stand when he was the pride of +the mounted squad. He was on post once more. + +Few people were passing, and none seemed to notice him. Yet he was an +odd figure. His coat was shaggy and weather-stained. It looked patched +and faded. The spavined hock caused one hind quarter to sag somewhat, +but aside from that his pose was strictly according to the regulations. + +Skipper had been playing at standing post for a half-hour, when a +trotting dandy who sported ankle-boots and toe-weights, pulled up before +him. He was drawing a light, bicycle-wheeled road-wagon in which were +two men. + +"Queer?" one of the men was saying. "Can't say I see anything queer +about it, Captain. Some old plug that's got away from a squatter; that's +all I see in it." + +"Well, let's have a look," said the other. He stared hard at Skipper for +a moment and then, in a loud, sharp tone, said: + +"'Ten-shun! Right dress!" + +Skipper pricked up his ears, raised his head, and side-stepped stiffly. +The trotting dandy turned and looked curiously at him. + +"Forward!" said the man in the wagon. Skipper hobbled out into the road. + +"Right wheel! Halt! I thought so," said the man, as Skipper obeyed the +orders. "That fellow has been on the force. He was standing post. Looks +mighty familiar, too--white stockings on two forelegs, white star on +forehead. Now I wonder if that can be--here, hold the reins a minute." + +Going up to Skipper the man patted his nose once or twice, and then +pushed his muzzle to one side. Skipper ducked and countered. He had not +forgotten his boxing trick. The man turned his back and began to pace +down the road. Skipper followed and picked up a riding-glove which the +man dropped. + +"Doyle," said the man, as he walked back to the wagon, "two years ago +that was the finest horse on the force--took the blue ribbon at the +Garden. Alderman Martin would give $1,000 for him as he stands. He has +hunted the State for him. You remember Martin--Reddy Martin--who used to +be on the mounted squad! Didn't you hear? An old uncle who made a +fortune as a building contractor died about a year ago and left the +whole pile to Reddy. He's got a fine country place up in Westchester and +is in the city government. Just elected this fall. But he isn't happy +because he can't find his old horse--and here's the horse." + +Next day an astonished junkman stood before an empty shanty which served +as a stable and feasted his eyes on a fifty-dollar bank-note. + + * * * * * + +If you are ever up in Westchester County be sure to visit the stables of +Alderman P. Sarsfield Martin. Ask to see that oak-panelled box-stall +with the stained-glass windows and the porcelain feed-box. You will +notice a polished brass name-plate on the door bearing this inscription: + +SKIPPER. + +You may meet the Alderman himself, wearing an English-made riding-suit, +loping comfortably along on a sleek bay gelding with two white forelegs +and a white star on his forehead. Yes, high-priced veterinaries can cure +spavin--Alderman Martin says so. + + + + +CALICO + +WHO TRAVELLED WITH A ROUND TOP + + +Something there was about Calico's markings which stuck in one's mind, +as does a haunting memory, intangible but unforgotten. Surely the +pattern was obtrusive enough to halt attention; yet its vagaries were so +unexpected, so surprising that, even as you looked, you might hesitate +at declaring whether it was his withers or his flanks which were +carrot-red and if he had four white stockings or only three. It was +safer simply to say that he was white where he was not red and red where +he was not white. Moreover, his was a vivid coat. + +Altogether Calico was a horse to be remarked and to be remembered. +Yet--and again yet--Calico was not wholly to blame for his many faults. +Farm breeding, which was more or less responsible for his bizarre +appearance, should also bear the burden of his failings. As a colt he +had been the marvel of the county, from Orono to Hermon Centre. He had +been petted, teased, humored, exhibited, coddled, fooled +with--everything save properly trained and broken. + +So he grew up a trace shirker and a halter-puller, with disposition, +temperament, and general behavior as uneven as his coloring. + +"The most good-fer-nothin' animal I ever wasted grain on!" declared +Uncle Enoch. + +For the better part of four unproductive years had the life of Calico +run to commonplaces. Then, early one June morning, came an hour big +with events. Being the nigh horse in Uncle Enoch's pair, Calico caught +first glimpse of the weird procession which met them as they turned into +the Bangor road at Sherburne's Corners. + +Now it was Calico's habit to be on the watch for unusual sights, and +when he saw them to stick his ears forward, throw his head up, snort +nervously and crowd against the pole. Generally he got one leg over a +trace. There was a white bowlder at the top of Poorhouse Hill which +Calico never passed without going through some of these manoeuvres. + +"Hi-i-ish there! So-o-o! Dern yer crazy-quilt hide. Body'd think yer +never see that stun afore in yer life. Gee-long a-a-ap!" Uncle Enoch +would growl, accenting his words by jerking the lines. + +A scarecrow in the middle of a cornfield, an auction bill tacked to a +stump, an old hat stuffing a vacant pane and proclaiming the +shiftlessness of the Aroostook Billingses, would serve when nothing else +offered excuse for skittishness. Even sober Old Jeff, the off horse, +sometimes caught the infection for a moment. He would prick up his ears +and look inquiringly at the suspected object, but so soon as he saw what +it was down went his head sheepishly, as if he was ashamed of having +again been tricked. + +This morning, however, it was no false alarm. When Old Jeff was roused +out of his accustomed jog by Calico's nervous snorts he looked up to see +such a spectacle as he had never beheld in all his goings and comings up +and down the Bangor road. Looming out of the mist was a six-horse team +hitched to the most foreign-looking rig one could well imagine. It had +something of the look of a preposterous hay-cart, with the ends of +blue-painted poles sticking out in front and trailing behind. Following +this was a great, white-swathed wheeled box drawn by four horses. It was +certainly a curious affair, whatever it was, but neither Calico nor Old +Jeff gave it much heed, nor did they waste a glance on the distant tail +of the procession, for behind the wheeled box was a thing which held +their gaze. + +In the gray four o'clock light it seemed like an enormous cow that +rolled menacingly forward; not as a cow walks, however, but with a +swaying, heaving motion like nothing commonly seen on a Maine highway. +Instinctively both horses thrust their muzzles toward the thing and +sniffed. Without doubt Old Jeff was frightened. Perhaps not for nine +generations had any of his ancestors caught a whiff of that peculiarly +terrifying scent of which every horse inherits knowledge and dread. + +As for Calico, he had no need of such spur as inherited terror. He had +fearsomeness enough of his own to send him rearing and pawing the air +until the whiffle-trees rapped his knees. Old Jeff did not rear. He +stared and snorted and trembled. When he felt his mate spring forward in +the traces he went with him, ready to do anything in order to get away +from that heaving, swaying thing which was coming toward them. + +"Whoa, ye pesky fools! Whoa, dod rot ye!" Uncle Enoch, wakened from the +half doze which he had been taking on the wagon-seat, now began to saw +on the lines. His shouts seemed to have aroused the heaving thing, for +it answered with a horrid, soul-chilling noise. + +By this time Calico was leaping frantically, snorting at every jump and +forcing Old Jeff to keep pace. They were at the top of a long grade and +down the slope the loaded wagon rattled easily behind them. Uncle Enoch +did his best. With feet well braced he tugged at the lines and shouted, +all to no purpose. Never before had Calico and Old Jeff met a circus on +the move. Neither had they previously come into such close quarters with +an elephant. One does not expect such things on the Bangor road. At +least they did not. They proposed to get away from such terrors in the +shortest possible time. + +Now the public ways of Maine are seldom macadamized. In places they are +laid out straight across and over the granite backbone of the +continent. The Bangor road is thus constructed in spots. This slope was +one of the spots where the bare ledge, with here and there six-inch +shelves and eroded gullies, offered a somewhat uneven surface to the +wheels. A well built Studebaker will stand a lot of this kind of +banging, but it is not wholly indestructible. So it happened that +half-way down the hill the left hind axle snapped at the hub. Thereupon +some two hundred dozen ears of early green-corn were strewn along the +flinty face of the highway, while Uncle Enoch was hurled, seat and all, +accompanied by four dozen eggs and ten pounds of Aunt Henrietta's best +butter, into the ditch. + +When the circus caravan overtook him Uncle Enoch had captured the +runaways and was leading them back to where the wrecked wagon lay by the +roadside. More or less butter was mixed with the sandy chin whiskers and +an inartistic yellow smooch down the front of his coat showed that the +eggs had followed him. + +"Rather lively pair of yours; eh, mister?" commented a red-faced man who +dropped off the pole-wagon. + +"Yes, ruther lively," assented Uncle Enoch, "'Specially when ye don't +want 'em to be. The off one's stiddy enough. It's this cantankerous +skewbald that started the tantrum. Whoa now, blame ye!" Calico's nose +was in the air again and he was snorting excitedly. + +"Lemme hold him 'till old Ajax goes by," said the circus man. + +"Thank ye. I'll swap him off fust chance I git, ef I don't fetch back +nuthin' but a boneyard skate," declared Uncle Enoch. + +As Ajax lumbered by, the circus man eyed with interest the dancing +Calico. He noted with approval the coat of fantastic design, the springy +knees and the fine tail that rippled its white length almost to Calico's +heels. + +"I'll do better'n that by you, mister," said he. "I've got a +fourteen-hundred pound Vermont Morgan, sound as a dollar, only eight +years old and ain't afraid o' nothin'. I'll swap him even for your +skewbald." + +"Like to see him," said Uncle Enoch. "If he's half what ye say it's a +trade." + +"Here he comes on the band-wagon team;" then, to the driver: "Hey, Bill, +pull up!" + +In less than half an hour from the time Calico had bolted at sight of +the circus cavalcade he was part and parcel of it, and helping to pull +one of those mysterious sheeted wagons along in the wake of the +terrifying Ajax. + +"The old party don't give you a very good send off," said the boss +hostler reflectively to Calico, "but I reckon you'll get used to Ajax +and the music-chariot before the season's over. Leastways, you're bound +to be an ornament to the grand entry." + +Calico's life with the Grand Occidental began abruptly and vigorously. +The driver of the band-wagon knew his business. Even when half asleep +he could see loose traces. After Calico had heard the long lash whistle +about his ears a few times he concluded that it was best to do his share +of the pulling. + +And what pulling it was! There were six horses of them, Calico being one +of the swings, but on an uphill grade that old chariot was the most +reluctant thing he had ever known. Uncle Enoch's stone-boat, which +Calico had once held to be merely a heart-breaking instrument of +torture, seemed light in retrospect. Often did he look reproachfully at +the monstrous combination of gilded wood and iron. Why need band-wagons +be made so exasperatingly heavy? The atrociously carved Pans on the +corners, with their scarred faces and broken pipes, were cumbersome +enough to make a load for one pair of horses, all by themselves. Calico +would think of them as he was straining up a long hill. He could almost +feel them pulling back on the traces in a sort of wooden stubbornness. +And when the team rattled the old chariot down a rough grade how he +hoped that two or three of the figures might be jolted off. But in the +morning, when the show lot was reached and the travelling wraps taken +off the wagons, there he would see the heavy shouldered Pans all in +their places as hideous and as permanent as ever. + +It was a hard and bitter lesson which Calico learned, this matter of +keeping one's tugs tight. Uncle Enoch had spared the whip, but in the +heart of Broncho Bill, who drove the band-wagon, there was no leniency. +Ready and strong was his whip hand, and he knew how to make the blood +follow the lash. No effort did he waste on fat-padded flanks when he +was in earnest. He cut at the ears, where the skin is tender. He could +touch up the leaders as easily as he could the wheel-horses, and when he +aimed at the swings he never missed fire. + +Travelling with a round top Calico found to be no sinecure. The Grand +Occidental, being a wagon show, moved wholly by road. The shortest jump +was fifteen miles, but often they did thirty between midnight and +morning; and thirty miles over country highways make no short jaunt when +you have a five-ton chariot behind you. The jump, however, was only the +beginning of the day's work. No sooner had you finished breakfast than +you were hooked in for the street parade, meaning from two to four miles +more. + +You had a few hours for rest after that before the grand entry. Ah, that +grand entry! That was something to live for. No matter how bad the roads +or how hard the hills had been Calico forgot it all during those ten +delightful minutes when, with his heart beating time to the rat-tat-tat +of the snare drum, he swung prancingly around the yellow arena. + +It all began in the dressing-tent with a period of confusion in which +horses were crowded together as thick as they could stand, while the +riders dressed and mounted in frantic haste, for to be late meant to be +fined. At last the ring-master clapped his hands as sign that all was in +readiness. There was a momentary hush. Then a bugle sounded, the flaps +were thrown back and to the crashing accompaniment of the band, the +seemingly chaotic mass unfolded into a double line as the horses broke +into a sharp gallop around the freshly dug ring. + +The first time Calico did the grand entry he felt as though he had been +sucked into a whirlpool and was being carried around by some +irresistible force. So dazed was he by the music, by the hum of human +voices and by the unfamiliar sights, that he forgot to rear and kick. He +could only prance and snort. He went forward because the rider of the +outside horse dragged him along by the bridle rein. Around and around he +circled until he lost all sense of direction, and when he was finally +shunted out through the dressing-tent flaps he was so dizzy he could +scarcely stand. + +For a horse accustomed to shy at his own shadow this was heroic +treatment. But it was successful. In a month you could not have startled +Calico with a pound of dynamite. He would placidly munch his oats within +three feet of the spot where a stake-gang swung the heavy sledges in +staccato time. He cared no more for flapping canvas than for the wagging +of a mule's ears. As for noises, when one has associated with a steam +calliope one ceases to mind anything in that line. Old Ajax, it was +true, remained a terror to Calico for weeks, but in the end the horse +lost much of his dread for the ancient pachyderm, although he never felt +wholly comfortable while those wicked little eyes were turned in his +direction. Hereditary instincts, you know, die hard. + +During those four months in which the Grand Occidental flitted over the +New England circuit from Kenduskeag, Me., to Bennington, Vt., there came +upon Calico knowledge of many things. The farm-horse to whom Bangor's +market-square had been full of strange sights became, in comparison with +his former self, most sophisticated. He feared no noise save that +sinister whistle made by Broncho Bill's long lash. The roaring sputter +of gasoline flares was no more to him than the sound of a running +brook. He had learned that it was safe to kick a mere canvasman when you +felt like doing so, but that a real artist, such as a tumbler or a +trapeze man, was to be respected, and that the person of the ring-master +was most sacred. Also he acquired the knack of sleeping at odd times, +whenever opportunity offered and under any conditions. + +When he had grown thus wise, and when he had ceased to stumble over +guy-ropes and tent-stakes, Calico received promotion. He was put in as +outside horse of the leading pair in the grand entry. He was decorated +with a white-braided cord bridle with silk rosettes and he wore between +his ears a feather pompon. All this was very fine and grand, but there +was so little of it. + +After it was all over, when the crowds had gone, the top lowered and the +stakes pulled, he was hitched to the leaden-wheeled band-wagon to +strain and tug at the traces all through the last weary half of the +night. But when fame has started your way, be you horse or man, you +cannot escape. Just before the season closed Calico was put on the +sawdust. This was the way of it. + +A ninety-foot top, you know, carries neither extra people nor spare +horses. The performers must double up their acts. No one is exempt save +the autocratic high-bar folk, who own their own apparatus and dictate +contracts. So with the horses. The teams that pull the pole-wagon, the +chariots and the other wheeled things which a circus needs, must also +figure in the grand entry and in the hippodrome races. Even the +ring-horses have their share of road-work in a wagon show. + +To the dappled grays used by Mlle. Zaretti, who was a top-liner on the +bills, fell the lot of pulling the ticket-wagon, this being the +lightest work. It was Mlle. Zaretti's habit to ride one at the afternoon +show, the other in the evening. So when the nigh gray developed a +shoulder gall on the day that the off one went lame there arose an +emergency. Also there ensued trouble for the driver of the ticket-wagon. +First he was tongue lashed by Mademoiselle, then he was fined a week's +pay and threatened with discharge by the manager. But when the +increasing wrath of the Champion Lady Equestrienne of America led her to +demand his instant and painful annihilation the worm turned. The driver +profanely declared that he knew his business. He had travelled with Yank +Robinson, he had, and no female hair-grabber under canvas should call +him down more than once in the same day. There was more of this, added +merely for emphasis. Mlle. Zaretti saw the point. She had gone too far. +Whereupon she discreetly turned on her high French heels and meekly +asked the boss hostler for the most promising animal he had. The boss +picked out Calico. + +No sooner was the top up that day than Calico's training began. Well it +was that he had learned obedience, for this was to be his one great +opportunity. Many a time had Calico circled around the banked ring's +outer circumference, but never had he been within it. Neither had he +worn before a broad pad. By dint of leading and coaxing he was made to +understand that his part of the act was to canter around the ring with +Mlle. Zaretti on his back, where she was to be allowed to go through as +many motions as she pleased. + +For a green horse Calico conducted himself with much credit. He did not +stumble. He did not shy at the ring-master's whip. He did not try to +dodge the banners or the hoops after he found how harmless they were. + +"Well, if I cut my act perhaps I can manage, but if I break my neck I +hope you'll murder that fool driver," was Mlle. Zaretti's verdict and +petition when the lesson ended. + +Mlle. Zaretti's gyrations that afternoon and evening were somewhat tame +when you consider the manner in which she was billed. Calico did his +part with only a few excusable blunders, and she was so pleased that he +got the apples and sugarplums which usually rewarded the grays. + +The galled shoulder healed, but the lame leg developed into an incurably +stiff joint. Three nights later Calico, to his great joy, left the +band-chariot team forever, to find himself on the light ticket-wagon and +regularly entered as a ring horse. Nor was this all. When the season +closed Mlle. Zaretti bought Calico at an exorbitant price. He was +shipped to a strange place, where they put him in a box-stall, fed him +with generous regularity and asked him to do absolutely nothing at all. + +It was a month before Calico saw his mistress again. He had been taken +into a great barn-like structure which had many sky-lights and windows. +Here was an ideal ring, smooth and springy, with no hidden rocks or soft +spots such as one sometimes finds when on the road. Mlle. Zaretti no +longer wore her spangled pink dress. Instead she appeared in serviceable +knickerbockers and wore wooden-soled slippers on her feet. In the middle +of the ring a man who was turning himself into a human pin-wheel stopped +long enough to shout: "Hello, Kate; signed yet?" + +"You bet," said Mlle. Zaretti. "Next spring I go out by rail with a +three topper. I'm going to do the real bareback act, too. No more broad +pads and wagon shows for Katie. Hey, Jim, rig up your Stokes' mechanic." + +Jim, a stout man who wore his suspenders outside a blue sweater and +talked huskily, arranged a swinging derrick-arm, the purpose of which, +it developed, was to keep Mlle. Zaretti off the ground whenever she +missed her footing on Calico's back. There was a broad leather belt +around her waist and to this was fastened a rope. Very often was this +needed during those first three weeks of practice, for, true to her +word, Mlle. Zaretti no longer strapped on Calico's back the broad pad to +which he had been accustomed. At first the wooden-soles hurt and made +him flinch, but in time the skin became toughened and he minded them not +at all, although Mlle. Zaretti was no featherweight. + +Long before the snow was gone Mlle. Zaretti had discarded the +derrick-arm. Urging Calico to his best speed she would grasp the cinch +handles and with one light bound land on his well-resined back. Then, as +he circled around in an even, rythmical lope, she would jump the banners +and dive through the hoops. It was more or less fun for Calico, but it +all seemed so utterly useless. There were no crowds to see and applaud. +He missed the music and the cheering. + +At last there came a change. Calico and his mistress took a journey. +They arrived in the biggest city Calico had ever seen, and one +afternoon, to the accompaniment of such a crash of music and such a +chorus of "HI! HI! HI's!" as he had never before heard, they burst into +a great arena where were not only one ring but three, and about them, +tier on tier as far up as one could see, the eager faces and gay +clothes of a vast multitude of spectators. Calico, as you will guess, +had become a factor in "The Grandest Aggregation." + +If Calico had longed for music and applause his wishes were surely +answered, for, although Mlle. Zaretti had jumped from a wagon-show to a +three-ring combination that began its season with an indoor March +opening, she was still a top-liner. That is, she had a feature act. + +Thus it was that just as the Japanese jugglers finished tossing each +other on their toes in the upper ring and while the property helpers +were making ready the lower one for the elephants, in the centre ring +Mlle. Zaretti and Calico alone held the attention of great audiences. + +"Mem-zelle Zar-ret-ti! Champ-i-on la-dy bare-back ri-der of the +wor-r-r-r-ld, on her beaut-i-ful Ar-a-bian steed!" + +That was the manner in which the megaphone announcer heralded their +appearance. Then followed a rattle of drums and a tooting of horns, +ending in one tremendous bang as Calico, lifting his feet so high and so +daintily you might have thought he was stepping over a row of china +vases, and bowing his head so low that his neck arched almost double, +came mincing into the arena. In his mouth he champed solid silver bits, +and his polished hoofs were rimmed with nickel-plated shoes. The heavy +bridle reins were covered with the finest white kid, as was the +surcingle which completed his trappings. + +Rather stout had Calico become in these halcyon days. His back and +flanks were like the surface of a well-upholstered sofa. His coat of +motley told its own story of daily rubbings and good feeding. The white +was dazzlingly white and the carrot-red patches glowed like the inside +of a well-burnished copper kettle. So shiny was he that you could see +reflected on his sides the black, gold-spangled tights and fluffy black +skirts worn by Mlle. Zaretti, who poised on his back as lightly as if +she had been an ostrich-plume dropped on a snow-bank and who smilingly +kissed her finger-tips to the craning-necked tiers of spectators with +charming indiscrimination and admirable impartiality. + +You may imagine that this picture was not without its effect. Never did +it fail to draw forth a mighty volume of "Ohs!" and "Ah-h-h-hs!" +especially at the afternoon performances, when the youngsters were out +in force. And how Calico did relish this hum of admiration! Perhaps +Mlle. Zaretti thought some of it was meant for her. No such idea had +Calico. + +You could see this by the way in which he tossed his head and pawed +haughtily as he waited for the band to strike up his music. Oh, yes, +_his_ music. You must know that by this time the horse that had once +pulled the stone-boat on Uncle Enoch's farm, and had later learned the +hard lesson of obedience under Broncho Bill's lash had now become an +equine personage. He had his grooms and his box-stall. He had whims +which must be humored. One of these had to do with the music which +played him through his act. He had discovered that the Blue Danube waltz +was exactly to his liking, and to no other tune would he consent to do +his best. Sulking was one of his new accomplishments. + +As for Mlle. Zaretti, she affected no such frills, but she was ever +ready to defend those of her horse. A hard-working, frugal, ambitious +young person was Mlle. Zaretti, whose few extravagances were mostly on +Calico's account. For him she demanded the Blue Danube waltz in the face +of the band-master's grumblings. + +When the Grandest Aggregation finally took the road the satisfaction of +Calico was complete. He was under canvas once more. No band-wagon work +wearied his nights. He even enjoyed the street parade. In the evening, +when his act was over, he left the tents, glowing huge and brilliant +against the night, and jogged quietly off to his padded car-stall, where +were to be had a full two hours' rest before No. 2 train pulled out. + +In the gray of the morning he would wake to contentedly look out through +his grated window at the flying landscape, remembering with a sigh of +satisfaction that no longer was he routed out at cockcrow to be driven +afield. Later he could see the curious crowds in the railroad yards as +the long lines of cars were shunted back and forth. As he lazily +munched his breakfast oats he watched the draught horses patiently drag +the huge chariots across the tracks and off to the show lot where _he_ +was not due for hours. + +A life of mild exertion, enjoyable excitement, changing scenes, and +considerate treatment was his. No wonder the fat stuck to Calico's ribs. +No wonder his eyes beamed contentment. Such are the sweets of high +achievement. + + * * * * * + +It was to sell early July peas that Uncle Enoch again took the Bangor +road one day about three years after his memorable meeting with the +Grand Occidental. On his way across the city to Norumbega Market he +found his way blocked by a line of waiting people. From an urchin-tossed +handbill, Uncle Enoch learned that the Grandest Aggregation was in town +and that "the Unparalleled Street Pageant" was about due. So he waited. + +With grim enjoyment Uncle Enoch watched the brilliant spectacle +impassively. Old Jeff merely pricked up his ears in curious interest as +the procession moved along in its dazzling course. + +"Zaretti, Bareback Queen of the World! On her Famous Arabian Steed +Abdullah! Presented to her by the Shah of Persia!" + +Thus read Uncle Enoch as he followed the printed order of parade with +toil-grimed forefinger. + +For a moment Uncle Enoch's gaze was held by the Bareback Queen, who +looked languidly into space over the top of the tiger cage. Then he +stared hard at the "far-famed Arabian steed," gift of the impulsive +Shah. Said steed was caparisoned in a gorgeous saddle-blanket hung with +silver fringe. A silver-mounted martingale dangled between his knees. +Holding the silk-tasselled bridle rein, and walking in respectful +attendance, was a groom in tight-fitting riding breeches and a cockaded +hat which rested mainly on his ears. The horse was of white, mottled +with carrot-red in such striking pattern that, having once seen it, one +could hardly forget. + +"Gee whilikins!" said Uncle Enoch softly to himself, as if fearful of +betraying some newly discovered secret. + +But Old Jeff was moved to no such reticence. Lifting his head over the +shoulders of the crowd he pointed his ears and gave vent to a quick, +glad whinny of recognition. The "far-famed Arabian," turning so sharply +that the unwary groom was knocked sprawling, looked hard at the humble +farm-horse, and then, with an answering high-pitched neigh, dashed +through the quickly scattering spectators. + +It was a moment of surprises. The Bareback Queen of the World was +startled out of her day-dream to find her "Arabian steed" rubbing noses +with a ragged-coated horse hitched to a battered farm-wagon, in which +sat a chin-whiskered old fellow who grinned expansively and slyly winked +at her over the horses' heads. + +"It's all right, ma'am, I won't let on," he said. + +Before she could reply, the groom, who had rescued his cockaded hat and +his presence of mind, rushed in and dragged the far-famed steed back +into the line of procession. + +"Wall, I swan to man, ef Old Jeff didn't know that air Calicker afore I +did," declared Uncle Enoch, as he described the affair to Aunt +Henrietta; "an' me that raised him from a colt. I do swan to man!" + +Mlle. Zaretti did not "swan to man," whatever that may be, but to this +day she marvels concerning the one and only occasion when her trusted +Calico disturbed the progress of the Grandest Aggregation's unparalleled +street pageant. + + + + +OLD SILVER + +A STORY OF THE GRAY HORSE TRUCK + + +Down in the heart of the skyscraper district, keeping watch and ward +over those presumptuous, man-made cliffs around which commerce heaps its +Fundy tides, you will find, unhandsomely housed on a side street, a hook +and ladder company, known unofficially and intimately throughout the +department as the Gray Horse Truck. + +Much like a big family is a fire company. It has seasons of good +fortune, when there are neither sick leaves nor hospital cases to +report; and it has periods of misfortune, when trouble and disaster +stalk abruptly through the ranks. Gray Horse Truck company is no +exception. Calm prosperity it has enjoyed, and of swift, unexpected +tragedy it has had full measure. Yet its longest mourning and most +sincere, was when it lost Old Silver. + +Although some of the men of Gray Horse Truck had seen more than ten +years' continuous service in the house, not one could remember a time +when Old Silver had not been on the nigh side of the poles. Mikes and +Petes and Jims there had been without number. Some were good and some +were bad, some had lasted years and some only months, some had been kind +and some ugly, some stupid and some clever; but there had been but one +Silver, who had combined all their good traits as well as many of their +bad ones. + +Horses and men, Silver had seen them come and go. He had seen +probationers rise step by step to battalion and deputy chiefs, win +shields and promotion or meet the sudden fate that is their lot. All +that time Silver's name-board had swung over his old stall, and when the +truck went out Silver was to be found in his old place on the left of +the poles. Driver succeeded driver, but one and all they found Silver +first under the harness when a station hit, first to jump forward when +the big doors rolled back, and always as ready to do his bit on a long +run as he was to demand his four quarts when feeding-time came. + +Before the days of the Training Stable, where now they try out new +material, Silver came into the service. That excellent institution, +therefore, cannot claim the credit of his selection. Perhaps he was +chosen by some shrewd old captain, who knew a fire-horse when he saw +one, even in the raw; perhaps it was only a happy chance which put him +in the business. At any rate, his training was the work of a master +hand. + +Silver was not one of the fretting kind, so at the age of fifteen he was +apple-round, his legs were straight and springy, and his eyes as full +and bright as those of a school-boy at a circus. The dapples on his gray +flanks were as distinct as the under markings on old velours, while his +tail had the crisp whiteness of a polished steel bit on a frosty +morning. Unless you had seen how shallow were his molar cups or noted +the length of his bridle teeth, would you have guessed him not more than +six. + +As for the education of Silver, its scope and completeness, no outsider +would have given credence to the half of it. When Lannigan had driven +the truck for three years, and had been cronies with Silver for nearly +five, it was his habit to say, wonderingly: + +"He beats me, Old Silver does. I git onto some new wrinkle of his every +day. No; 'taint no sorter use to tell his tricks; you wouldn't believe, +nor would I an' I hadn't seen with me two eyes." + +In the way of mischief Silver was a star performer. What other +fire-horse ever mastered the intricacies of the automatic halter +release? It was Silver, too, that picked from the Captain's hip-pocket a +neatly folded paper and chewed the same with malicious enthusiasm. The +folded paper happened to be the Company's annual report, in the writing +of which the Captain had spent many weary hours. + +Other things besides mischief however, had Silver learned. Chief of +these was to start with the jigger. Sleeping or waking, lying or +standing, the summons that stirred the men from snoring ease to tense, +rapid action, never failed to find Silver alert. As the halter shank +slipped through the bit-ring that same instant found Silver gathered +for the rush through the long narrow lane leading from his open stall to +the poles, above which, like great couchant spiders, waited the +harnesses pendant on the hanger-rods. It was unwise to be in Silver's +way when that little brazen voice was summoning him to duty. More than +one man of Gray Horse Truck found that out. + +Once under the harness Silver was like a carved statue until the +trip-strap had been pulled, the collar fastened and the reins snapped +in. Then he wanted to poke the poles through the doors, so eager was he +to be off. It was no fault of Silver's that his team could not make a +two-second hitch. + +With the first strain at the traces his impatience died out. A +sixty-foot truck starts with more or less reluctance. Besides, Silver +knew that before anything like speed could be made it was necessary +either to mount the grade to Broadway or to ease the machine down to +Greenwich Street. It was traces or backing-straps for all that was in +you, and at the end a sharp turn which never could have been made had +not the tiller-man done his part with the rear wheels. + +But when once the tires caught the car-tracks Silver knew what to +expect. At the turn he and his team mates could feel Lannigan gathering +in the reins as though for a full stop. Next came the whistle of the +whip. It swept across their flanks so quickly that it was practically +one stroke for them all. At the same moment Lannigan leaned far forward +and shot out his driving arm. The reins went loose, their heads went +forward and, as if moving on a pivot, the three leaped as one horse. +Again the reins tightened for a second, again they were loosened. When +the bits were pulled back up came three heads, up came three pairs of +shoulders and up came three pairs of forelegs; for at the other end of +the lines, gripped vice-like in Lannigan's big fist, was swinging a good +part of Lannigan's one hundred and ninety-eight pounds. + +Left to themselves each horse would have leaped at a different instant. +It was that one touch of the lash and the succeeding swing of Lannigan's +bulk which gave them the measure, which set the time, which made it +possible for less than four thousand pounds of horse-flesh to jump a +five-ton truck up the street at a four-minute clip. + +For Silver all other minor pleasures in life were as nothing to the +fierce joy he knew when, with a dozen men clinging to the hand-rails, +the captain pulling the bell-rope and Lannigan, far up above them all, +swaying on the lines, the Gray Horse Truck swept up Broadway to a first +call-box. + +It was like trotting to music, if you've ever done that. Possibly you +could have discovered no harmony at all in the confused roar of the +apparatus as it thundered past. But to the ears of Silver there were +many sounds blended into one. There were the rhythmical beat of hoofs, +the low undertone of the wheels grinding the pavement, the high note of +the forged steel lock-opener as it hammered the foot-board, the mellow +ding-dong of the bell, the creak of the forty-and fifty-foot extensions, +the rattle of the iron-shod hooks, the rat-tat-tat of the scaling +ladders on the bridge and the muffled drumming of the leather helmets as +they jumped in the basket. + +With the increasing speed all these sounds rose in pitch until, when the +team was at full-swing, they became one vibrant theme--thrilling, +inspiring, exultant--the action song of the Truck. + +To enjoy such music, to know it at its best, you must leap in the +traces, feel the swing of the poles, the pull of the whiffle-trees, the +slap of the trace-bearers; and you must see the tangled street-traffic +clear before you as if by the wave of a magician's wand. + +Of course it all ended when, with heaving flanks and snorting nostrils +you stopped before a building, where thin curls of smoke escaped from +upper windows. Generally you found purring beside a hydrant a shiny +steamer which had beaten the truck by perhaps a dozen seconds. Then you +watched your men snatch the great ladders from the truck, heave them up +against the walls and bring down pale-faced, staring-eyed men and women. +You saw them tear open iron shutters, batter down doors, smash windows +and do other things to make a path for the writhing, white-bodied, +yellow-nosed snakes that uncoiled from the engine and were carried +wriggling in where the flames lapped along baseboard and floor-beams. +You saw the little ripples of smoke swell into huge, cream-edged billows +that tumbled out and up so far above that you lost sight of them. + +Sometimes there came dull explosions, when smoke and flame belched out +about you. Sometimes stones and bricks and cornices fell near you. But +you were not to flinch or stir until Lannigan, who watched all these +happenings with critical and unwinking eyes, gave the word. + +And after it was all over--when the red and yellow flames had ceased to +dance in the empty window spaces, when only the white steam-smoke rolled +up through the yawning roof-holes--the ladders were re-shipped, you left +the purring engines to drown out the last hidden spark, and you went +prancing back to your House, where the lonesome desk-man waited +patiently for your return. + +No loping rush was the homeward trip. The need for haste had passed. Now +came the parade. You might toss your head, arch your neck, and use all +your fancy steps: Lannigan didn't care. In fact, he rather liked to have +you show off a bit. The men on the truck, smutty of face and hands, +joked across the ladders. The strain was over. It was a time of +relaxing, for behind was duty well done. + +Then came the nice accuracy of swinging a sixty-foot truck in a +fifty-foot street and of backing through a fourteen-foot door wheels +which spanned thirteen feet from hub rim to hub rim. + +After unhooking there was the rubbing and the extra feeding of oats that +always follows a long run. How good it was to be bedded down after this +lung stretching, leg limbering work. + +Such was the life which Old Silver was leading when there arrived +disaster. It came in the shape of a milk leg. Perhaps it was caused by +over-feeding, but more likely it resulted from much standing in stall +during a fortnight when the runs had been few and short. + +It behaved much as milk legs usually do. While there was no great pain +the leg was unhandsome to look upon, and it gave to Old Silver a +clumsiness of movement he had never known before. + +Industriously did Lannigan apply such simple remedies as he had at hand. +Yet the swelling increased until from pastern to hock was neither shape +nor grace. Worst of all, in getting on his feet one morning, Silver +barked the skin with a rap from his toe calks. Then it did look bad. Of +course this had to happen just before the veterinary inspector's +monthly visit. + +"Old Silver, eh?" said he. "Well, I've been looking for him to give out. +That's a bad leg there, a very bad leg. Send him up to the hospital in +the morning, and I'll have another gray down here. It's time you had a +new horse in his place." + +Lannigan stepped forward to protest. It was only a milk leg. He had +cured such before. He could cure this one. Besides, he couldn't spare +Silver, the best horse on his team. + +But the inspector often heard such pleas. + +"You drivers," said he, "would keep a horse going until he dropped +through the collar. To hear you talk anyone would think there wasn't +another horse in the Department. What do you care so long as you get +another gray?" + +Very much did Lannigan care, but he found difficulty in putting his +sentiments into words. Besides, of what use was it to talk to a blind +fool who could say that one gray horse was as good as another. Hence +Lannigan only looked sheepish and kept his tongue between his teeth +until the door closed behind the inspector. Then he banged a ham-like +fist into a broad palm and relieved his feelings in language both +forceful and picturesque. This failed to mend matters, so Lannigan, +putting an arm around the old gray's neck, told Silver all about it. +Probably Silver misunderstood, for he responded by reaching over +Lannigan's shoulder and chewing the big man's leather belt. Only when +Lannigan fed to him six red apples and an extra quart of oats did Silver +mistrust that something unusual was going to happen. Next morning, sure +enough, it did happen. + +Some say Lannigan wept. As to that none might be sure, for he sat facing +the wall in a corner of the bunk-room. No misunderstanding could there +have been about his remarks, muttered though they were. They were +uncomplimentary to all veterinary inspectors in general, and most +pointedly uncomplimentary to one in particular. Below they were leading +Old Silver away to the hospital. + +Perhaps it was that Silver's milk leg was stubborn in yielding to +treatment. Perhaps the folks at the horse hospital deemed it unwise to +spend time and effort on a horse of his age. At any rate, after less +than a week's stay, he was cast into oblivion. They took away the leaden +number medal, which for more than ten years he had worn on a strap +around his neck, and they turned him over to a sales-stable as +carelessly as a battalion chief would toss away a half-smoked cigar. + +Now a sales-stable is a place where horse destinies are shuffled by +reckless and unthinking hands. Also its doors open on the four corners +of the world's crossed highways. You might go from there to find your +work waiting between the shafts of a baker's cart just around the +corner, or you might be sent across seas to die miserably of tsetse +stings on the South African veldt. + +Neither of these things happened to Silver. It occurred that his arrival +at the sales-stable was coincident with a rush order from the Street +Cleaning Department. So there he went. Fate, it seemed, had marked him +for municipal service. + +There was no delay about his initiation. Into his forehoofs they branded +this shameful inscription: D. S. C. 937, on his back they flung a +forty-pound single harness with a dirty piece of canvas as a blanket. +They hooked him to an iron dump-cart, and then, with a heavy lashed +whip, they haled him forth at 5.30 a.m. to begin the inglorious work of +removing refuse from the city streets. + +Perhaps you think Old Silver could not feel the disgrace, the ignominy +of it all. Could you have seen the lowered head, the limp-hung tail, the +dulled eyes and the dispirited sag of his quarters, you would have +thought differently. + +It is one thing to jump a hook and ladder truck up Broadway to the +relief of a fire-threatened block, and quite another to plod humbly +along the curb from ash-can to ash-can. How Silver did hate those cans. +Each one should have been for him a signal to stop. But it was not. In +consequence, he was yanked to a halt every two minutes. + +Sometimes he would crane his neck and look mournfully around at the +unsightly leg which he had come to understand was the cause of all his +misery. There would come into his great eyes a look of such pitiful +melancholy that one might almost fancy tears rolling out. Then he would +be roused by an exasperated driver, who jerked cruelly on the lines and +used his whip as if it had been a flail. + +When the cart was full Silver must drag it half across the city to the +riverfront, and up a steep runway from the top of which its contents +were dumped into the filthy scows that waited below. At the end of each +monotonous, wearisome day he jogged stiffly to the uninviting stables, +where he was roughly ushered into a dark, damp stall. + +To another horse, unused to anything better, the life would not have +seemed hard. Of oats and hay there were fair quantities, and there was +more or less hasty grooming. But to Silver, accustomed to such little +amenities as friendly pats from men, and the comradeship of his +fellow-workers, it was like a bad dream. He was not even cheered by the +fact that his leg, intelligently treated by the stable-boss, was growing +better. What did that matter? Had he not lost his caste? Express and +dray horses, the very ones that had once scurried into side streets at +sound of his hoofs, now insolently crowded him to the curb. When he had +been on the truck Silver had yielded the right of way to none, he had +held his head high; now he dodged and waited, he wore a blind bridle, +and he wished neither to see nor to be seen. + +For three months Silver had pulled that hateful refuse chariot about the +streets, thankful only that he traversed a section of the city new to +him. Then one day he was sent out with a new driver whose route lay +along familiar ways. The thing Silver dreaded, that which he had long +feared, did not happen for more than a week after the change. + +It came early one morning. He had been backed up in front of a big +office-building where a dozen bulky cans cumbered the sidewalk. The +driver was just lifting one of them to the tail-board when, from far +down the street, there reached Silver's ears a well-known sound. Nearer +it swept, louder and louder it swelled. The old gray lifted his lowered +head in spite of his determination not to look. The driver, too, poised +the can on the cart-edge, and waited, gazing. + +In a moment the noise and its cause were opposite. Old Silver hardly +needed to glance before knowing the truth. It was his old company, the +Gray Horse Truck. There was his old driver, there were his old team +mates. In a flash there passed from Silver's mind all memory of his +humble condition, his wretched state. Tossing his head and giving his +tail a swish, he leaped toward the apparatus, neatly upsetting the +filled ash-can over the head and shoulders of the bewildered driver. + +By a supreme effort Silver dropped into the old lope. A dozen bounds +took him abreast the nigh horse, and, in spite of Lannigan's shouts, +there he stuck, littering the newly swept pavement most disgracefully at +every jump. Thus strangely accompanied, the Gray Horse Truck thundered +up Broadway for ten blocks, and when it stopped, before a building in +which a careless watchman's lantern had set off the automatic, Old +Silver was part of the procession. + +It was Lannigan who, in the midst of an eloquent flow of indignant +abuse, made this announcement: "Why, boys--it's--it's our Old Silver; +jiggered if it ain't!" + +Each member of the crew having expressed his astonishment in +appropriate words, Lannigan tried to sum it all up by saying: + +"Silver, you old sinner! So they've put you in a blanked ash-cart, have +they? Well, I'll--I'll be----" + +But there speech failed him. His wits did not. There was a whispered +council of war. Lannigan made a daring proposal, at which all grinned +appreciatively. + +"Sure, they'd never find out," said one. + +"An' see, his game leg's most as good as new again," suggested another. + +It was an unheard-of, audacious, and preposterous proceeding; one which +the rules and regulations of the Fire Department, many and varied as +they are, never anticipated. But it was adopted. Meanwhile the Captain +found it necessary to inspect the interior of the building, the +Lieutenant turned his back, and the thing was done. + +That same evening an ill-tempered and very dirty ash-cart driver turned +up at the stables with a different horse from the one he had driven out +that morning, much to the mystification of himself and certain officials +of the Department of Street Cleaning. + +Also, there pranced back as nigh horse of the truck a big gray with one +slightly swollen hind leg. By the way he held his head, by the look in +his big, bright eyes, and by his fancy stepping one might have thought +him glad to be where he was. And it was so. As for the rest, Lannigan +will tell you in strict confidence that the best mode of disguising +hoof-brands until they are effaced by new growth is to fill them with +axle-grease. It cannot be detected. + +Should you ever chance to see, swinging up lower Broadway, a +hook-and-ladder truck drawn by three big grays jumping in perfect +unison, note especially the nigh horse--that's the one on the left side +looking forward. It will be Old Silver who, although now rising sixteen, +seems to be good for at least another four years of active service. + + + + +BLUE BLAZES + +AND THE MARRING OF HIM + + +Those who should know say that a colt may have no worse luck than to be +foaled on a wet Friday. On a most amazingly wet Friday--rain above, +slush below, and a March snorter roaring between--such was the natal day +of Blue Blazes. + +And an unhandsome colt he was. His broomstick legs seemed twice the +proper length, and so thin you would hardly have believed they could +ever carry him. His head, which somehow suggested the lines of a +boot-jack, was set awkwardly on an ewed neck. + +For this pitiful, ungainly little figure only two in all the world had +any feeling other than contempt. One of these, of course, was old Kate, +the sorrel mare who mothered him. She gazed at him with sad old eyes +blinded by that maternal love common to all species, sighed with huge +content as he nuzzled for his breakfast, and believed him to be the +finest colt that ever saw a stable. The other was Lafe, the chore boy, +who, when Farmer Perkins had stirred the little fellow roughly with his +boot-toe as he expressed his deep dissatisfaction, made reparation by +gently stroking the baby colt and bringing an old horse-blanket to wrap +him in. Old Kate understood. Lafe read gratitude in the big, sorrowful +mother eyes. + +Months later, when the colt had learned to balance himself on the +spindly legs, the old sorrel led him proudly about the pasture, showing +him tufts of sweet new spring grass, and taking him to the brook, where +were tender and juicy cowslips, finely suited to milk-teeth. + +In time the slender legs thickened, the chest deepened, the barrel +filled out, the head became less ungainly. As if to make up for these +improvements, the colt's markings began to set. They took the shapes of +a saddle-stripe, three white stockings, and an irregular white blaze +covering one side of his face and patching an eye. On chest and belly +the mother sorrel came out rather sharply, but on the rest of him was +that peculiar blending which gives the blue roan shade, a color +unpleasing to the critical eye, and one that lowers the market value. + +Lafe, however, found the colt good to look upon. But Lafe himself had no +heritage of beauty. He had not even grown up to his own long, thin legs. +Possibly no boy ever had hair of such a homely red. Certainly few could +have been found with bigger freckles. But it was his eyes which +accented the plainness of his features. You know the color of a ripe +gooseberry, that indefinable faint purplish tint; well, that was it. + +If Lafe found no fault with Blue Blazes, the colt found no fault with +Lafe. At first the colt would sniff suspiciously at him from under the +shelter of the old sorrel's neck, but in time he came to regard Lafe +without fear, and to suffer a hand on his flank or the chore boy's arm +over his shoulder. So between them was established a gentle confidence +beautiful to see. + +Fortunate it would have been had Lafe been master of horse on the +Perkins farm. But he was not. Firstly, there are no such officials on +Michigan peach-farms; secondly, Lafe would not have filled the position +had such existed. Lafe, you see, did not really belong. He was an +interloper, a waif who had drifted in from nowhere in particular, and +who, because of a willingness to do a man's work for no wages at all, +was allowed a place at table and a bunk over the wagon-shed. Farmer +Perkins, more jealous of his reputation for shrewdness than of his +soul's salvation, would point to Lafe and say, knowingly: + +"He's a bad one, that boy is; look at them eyes." And surely, if Lafe's +soul-windows mirrored the color of his mental state, he was indeed in a +bad way. + +In like manner Farmer Perkins judged old Kate's unhandsome colt. + +"Look at them ears," he said, really looking at the unsightly +nose-blaze. "We'll have a circus when it comes to breakin' that +critter." + +Sure enough, it _was_ more or less of a circus. Perhaps the colt was at +fault, perhaps he was not. Olsen, a sullen-faced Swede farm-hand, whose +youth had been spent in a North Sea herring-boat, and whose disposition +had been matured by sundry second mates on tramp steamers, was the +appropriate person selected for introducing Blue Blazes to the uses of a +halter. + +Judging all humans by the standard established by the mild-mannered +Lafe, the colt allowed himself to be caught after small effort. But when +the son of old Kate first felt a halter he threw up his head in alarm. +Abruptly and violently his head was jerked down. Blue Blazes was +surprised, hurt, angered. Something was bearing hard on his nose; there +was something about his throat that choked. + +Had he, then, been deceived? Here he was, wickedly and maliciously +trapped. He jerked and slatted his head some more. This made matters +worse. He was cuffed and choked. Next he tried rearing. His head was +pulled savagely down, and at this point Olsen began beating him with +the slack of the halter rope. + +Ah, now Blue Blazes understood! They got your head and neck into that +arrangement of straps and rope that they might beat you. Wild with fear +he plunged desperately to right and left. Blindly he reared, pawing the +air. Just as one of his hoofs struck Olsen's arm a buckle broke. The +colt felt the nose-strap slide off. He was free. + +A marvellous tale of fierce encounter with a devil-possessed colt did +Olsen carry back to the farm-house. In proof he showed a broken halter, +rope-blistered hands, and a bruised arm. + +"I knew it!" said Farmer Perkins. "Knew it the minute I see them ears. +He's a vicious brute, that colt, but we'll tame him." + +So four of them, variously armed with whips and pitchforks, went down to +the pasture and tried to drive Blue Blazes into a fence corner. But the +colt was not to be cornered. From one end of the pasture to the other he +raced. He had had enough of men for that day. + +Next morning Farmer Perkins tried familiar strategy. Under his coat he +hid a stout halter and a heavy bull whip. Then, holding a grain measure +temptingly before him, he climbed the pasture fence. + +In the measure were oats which he rattled seductively. Also he called +mildly and persuasively. Blue Blazes was suspicious. Four times he +allowed the farmer to come almost within reaching distance only to turn +and bolt with a snort of alarm just at the crucial moment. At last he +concluded that he must have just one taste of those oats. + +"Come coltie, nice coltie," cooed the man in a strained but conciliating +voice. + +Blue Blazes planted himself for a sudden whirl, stretched his neck as +far as possible and worked his upper lip inquiringly. The smell of the +oats lured him on. Hardly had he touched his nose to the grain before +the measure was dropped and he found himself roughly grabbed by the +forelock. In a moment he saw the hated straps and ropes. Before he could +break away the halter was around his neck and buckled firmly. + +Farmer Perkins changed his tone: "Now, you damned ugly little brute, +I've got you! [Jerk] Blast your wicked hide! [Slash] You will, will you? +[Yank] I'll larn you!" [Slash.] + +Man and colt were almost exhausted when the "lesson" was finished. It +left Blue Blazes ridged with welts, trembling, fright sickened. Never +again would he trust himself within reach of those men; no, not if they +offered him a whole bushel of oats. + +But it was a notable victory. Vauntingly Farmer Perkins told how he had +haltered the vicious colt. He was unconscious that a pair of ripe +gooseberry eyes turned black with hate, that behind his broad back was +shaken a futile fist. + +The harness-breaking of Blue Blazes was conducted on much the same plan +as his halter-taming, except that during the process he learned to use +his heels. One Olsen, who has since walked with a limp, can tell you +that. + +Another feature of the harness-breaking came as an interruption to +further bull-whip play by Farmer Perkins. It was a highly melodramatic +episode in which Lafe, gripping the handle of a two-tined pitchfork, his +freckled-face greenish-white and the pupils of his eyes wide with the +fear of his own daring, threatened immediate damage to the person of +Farmer Perkins, unless the said Perkins dropped the whip. This Perkins +did. More than that, he fled with ridiculous haste, and in craven +terror; while Lafe, having given the trembling colt a parting caress, +quitted the farm abruptly and for all time. + +As for Blue Blazes, two days later he was sold to a travelling +horse-dealer, and departed without any sorrow of farewells. In the weeks +during which he trailed over the fruit district of southern Michigan in +the wake of the horse-buyer, Blue Blazes learned nothing good and much +that was ill. He finished the trip with raw hocks, a hoof-print on his +flank, and teeth-marks on neck and withers. Horses led in a bunch do not +improve in disposition. + +Some of the scores the blue-roan colt paid in kind, some he did not, but +he learned the game of give and take. Men and horses alike, he +concluded, were against him. If he would hold his own he must be ready +with teeth and hoofs. Especially he carried with him always a black, +furious hatred of man in general. + +So he went about with ears laid back, the whites of his eyes showing, +and a bite or a kick ready in any emergency. Day by day the hate in him +deepened until it became the master-passion. A quick foot-fall behind him +was enough to send his heels flying as though they had been released by +a hair-trigger. He kicked first and investigated afterward. The mere +sight of a man within reaching distance roused all his ferocity. + +He took a full course in vicious tricks. He learned how to crowd a man +against the side of a stall, and how to reach him, when at his head, by +an upward and forward stroke of the forefoot. He could kick straight +behind with lightning quickness, or give the hoof a sweeping +side-movement most comprehensive and unexpected. The knack of lifting +the bits with the tongue and shoving them forward of the bridle-teeth +came in time. It made running away a matter of choice. + +When it became necessary to cause diversion he would balk. He no longer +cared for whips. Physically and mentally he had become hardened to +blows. Men he had ceased to fear, for most of them feared him and he +knew it. He only despised and hated them. One exception Blue Blazes +made. This was in favor of men and boys with red hair and freckles. Such +he would not knowingly harm. A long memory had the roan. + +Toward his own kind Blue Blazes bore himself defiantly. Double harness +was something he loathed. One was not free to work his will on the +despised driver if hampered by a pole and mate. In such cases he nipped +manes and kicked under the traces until released. He had a special +antipathy for gray horses and fought them on the smallest provocation, +or upon none at all. + +As a result Blue Blazes, while knowing no masters, had many owners, +sometimes three in a single week. He began his career by filling a three +months' engagement as a livery horse, but after he had run away a dozen +times, wrecked several carriages, and disabled a hostler, he was sold +for half his purchase price. + +Then did he enter upon his wanderings in real earnest. He pulled +street-cars, delivery wagons, drays and ash-carts. He was sold to +unsuspecting farmers, who, when his evil traits cropped out, swapped him +unceremoniously and with ingenious prevarication by the roadside. In the +natural course of events he was much punished. + +Up and across the southern peninsula of Michigan he drifted +contentiously, growing more vicious with each encounter, more daring +after each victory. In Muskegon he sent the driver of a grocery wagon to +the hospital with a shoulder-bite requiring cauterization and four +stitches. In Manistee he broke the small bones in the leg of a baker's +large boy. In Cadillac a boarding-stable hostler struck him with an iron +shovel. Blue Blazes kicked the hostler quite accurately and very +suddenly through a window. + +Between Cadillac and Kalaska he spent several lively weeks with farmers. +Most of them tried various taming processes. Some escaped with bruises +and some suffered serious injury. At Alpena he found an owner who, +having read something very convincing in a horse-trainer's book, +elaborately strapped the roan's legs according to diagram, and then went +into the stall to wreak vengeance with a riding-whip. Blue Blazes +accepted one cut, after which he crushed the avenger against the plank +partition until three of the man's ribs were broken. The Alpena man was +fished from under the roan's hoofs just in time to save his life. + +This incident earned Blue Blazes the name of "man-killer," and it stuck. +He even figured in the newspaper dispatches. "Blue Blazes, the Michigan +Man-Killer," "The Ugliest Horse Alive," "Alpena's Equine Outlaw"; these +were some of the head-lines. The Perkins method had borne fruit. + +When purchasers for a four-legged hurricane could no longer be found, +Blue Blazes was sent up the lake to an obscure little port where they +have only a Tuesday and Friday steamer, and where the blue roan's record +was unknown. Horses were in demand there. In fact, Blue Blazes was sold +almost before he had been led down the gang-plank. + +"Look out for him," warned the steam-boat man; "he's a wicked brute." + +"Oh, I've got a little job that'll soon take the cussedness out of him," +said the purchaser, with a laugh. + +Blue Blazes was taken down into the gloomy fore-hold of a three-masted +lake schooner, harnessed securely between two long capstan bars, and set +to walking in an aimless circle while a creaking cable was wound about a +drum. At the other end of the cable were fastened, from time to time, +squared pine-logs weighing half a ton each. It was the business of Blue +Blazes to draw these timbers into the hold through a trap-door opening +in the stern. There was nothing to kick save the stout bar, and there +was no one to bite. Well out of reach stood a man who cracked a whip +and, when not swearing forcefully, shouted "Ged-a-a-ap!" + +For several uneventful days he was forced to endure this exasperating +condition of affairs with but a single break in the monotony. This came +on the first evening, when they tried to unhook him. The experiment +ended with half a blue-flannel shirt in the teeth of Blue Blazes and a +badly scared lumber-shover hiding in the fore-peak. After that they put +grain and water in buckets, which they cautiously shoved within his +reach. + +Of course there had to be an end to this. In due time the Ellen B. was +full of square timbers. The Captain notified the owner of Blue Blazes +that he might take his blankety-blanked horse out of the Ellen B.'s +fore-hold. The owner declined, and entrenched himself behind a pure +technicality. The Captain had hired from him the use of a horse; would +the Captain kindly deliver said horse to him, the owner, on the dock? It +was a spirited controversy, in which the horse-owner scored several +points. But the schooner captain by no means admitted defeat. + +"The Ellen B. gets under way inside of a half hour," said he. "If you +want your blankety-blanked horse you've got that much time to take him +away." + +"I stand on my rights," replied the horse-owner. "You sail off with my +property if you dare. Go ahead! Do it! Next time the Ellen B. puts in +here I'll libel her for damages." + +Yet in the face of this threat the Ellen B. cast off her hawsers, spread +her sails, and stood up the lake bound Chicagoward through the Straits +with Blue Blazes still on board. Not a man-jack of the crew would +venture into the fore-hold, where Blue Blazes was still harnessed to the +capstan bars. + +When he had been without water or grain for some twelve hours the wrath +in him, which had for days been growing more intense, boiled over. +Having voiced his rage in raucous squeals, he took to chewing the +bridle-strap and to kicking the whiffle-tree. The deck watch gazed down +at him in awe. The watch below, separated from him only by a thin +partition, expressed profane disapproval of shipping such a passenger. + +There was no sleep on the Ellen B. that night. About four in the morning +the continued effort of Blue Blazes met with reward. The halter-strap +parted, and the stout oak whiffle-tree was splintered into many pieces. +For some minutes Blue Blazes explored the hold until he found the +gang-plank leading upward. + +His appearance on the deck of the Ellen B. caused something like a +panic. The man at the wheel abandoned his post, and as he started for +the cross-trees let loose a yell which brought up all hands. Blue Blazes +charged them with open mouth. Not a man hesitated to jump for the +rigging. The schooner's head came up into the wind, the jib-sheet blocks +rattled idly and the booms swung lazily across the deck, just grazing +the ears of Blue Blazes. + +How long the roan might have held the deck had not his thirst been +greater than his hate cannot be told. Water was what he needed most, for +his throat seemed burning, and just overside was an immensity of water. +So he leaped. Probably the crew of the Ellen B. believe to this day that +they escaped by a miracle from a devil-possessed horse who, finding them +beyond his reach, committed suicide. + +But Blue Blazes had no thought of self-destruction. After swallowing as +much lake water as was good for him he struck out boldly for the shore, +which was not more than half a mile distant, swimming easily in the +slight swell. Gaining the log-strewn beach, he found himself at the +edge of one of those ghostly, fire-blasted tamarack forests which cover +great sections of the upper end of Michigan's southern peninsula. At +last he had escaped from the hateful bondage of man. Contentedly he fell +to cropping the coarse beach-grass which grew at the forest's edge. + +For many long days Blue Blazes revelled in his freedom, sometimes +wandering for miles into the woods, sometimes ranging the beach in +search of better pasturage. Water there was aplenty, but food was +difficult to find. He even browsed bushes and tree-twigs. At first he +expected momentarily to see appear one of his enemies, a man. He heard +imaginary voices in the beat of the waves, the creaking of wind-tossed +tree-tops, the caw of crows, or in the faint whistlings of distant +steamers. He began to look suspiciously behind knolls and stumps. But +for many miles up and down the coast was no port, and the only evidences +he had of man were the sails of passing schooners, or the trailing +smoke-plumes of steam-boats. + +Not since he could remember had Blue Blazes been so long without feeling +a whip laid over his back. Still, he was not wholly content. He felt a +strange uneasiness, was conscious of a longing other than a desire for a +good feed of oats. Although he knew it not, Blue Blazes, who hated men +as few horses have ever hated them, was lonesome. He yearned for human +society. + +When at last a man did appear on the beach the horse whirled and dashed +into the woods. But he ran only a short distance. Soon he picked his way +back to the lake shore and gazed curiously at the intruder. The man was +making a fire of driftwood. Blue Blazes approached him cautiously. The +man was bending over the fire, fanning it with his hat. In a moment he +looked up. + +A half minute, perhaps more, horse and man gazed at each other. Probably +it was a moment of great surprise for them both. Certainly it was for +the man. Suddenly Blue Blazes pricked his ears forward and whinnied. It +was an unmistakable whinny of friendliness if not of glad recognition. +The man on the beach had red hair--hair of the homeliest red you could +imagine. Also he had eyes of the color of ripe gooseberries. + + * * * * * + +"You see," said Lafe, in explaining the matter afterward, "I was hunting +for burls. I had seen 'em first when I was about sixteen. It was once +when a lot of us went up on the steamer from Saginaw after black bass. +We landed somewhere and went up a river into Mullet Lake. Well, one day +I got after a deer, and he led me off so far I couldn't find my way back +to camp. I walked through the woods for more'n a week before I came out +on the lake shore. It was while I was tramping around that I got into a +hardwood swamp where I saw them burls, not knowing what they were at the +time. + +"When I showed up at home my stepfather was tearing mad. He licked me +good and had me sent to the reform school. I ran away from there after a +while and struck the Perkins farm. That's where I got to know Blue +Blazes. After my row with Perkins I drifted about a lot until I got work +in this very furniture factory," whereupon Lafe swept a comprehensive +hand about, indicating the sumptuously appointed office. + +"Well, I worked here until I saw them take off the cars a lot of those +knots just like the ones I'd seen on the trees up in that swamp. 'What +are them things?' says I to the foreman. + +"'Burls,' says he. + +"'Worth anything?' says I. + +"'Are they?' says he. 'They're the most expensive pieces of wood you can +find anywhere in this country. Them's what we saw up into veneers.' + +"That was enough for me. I had a talk with the president of the company. +'If you can locate that swamp, young man,' says he, 'and it's got in it +what you say it has, I'll help you to make your fortune." + +"So I started up the lake to find the swamp. That's how I come to run +across Blue Blazes again. How he came to be there I couldn't guess and +didn't find out for months. He was as glad to see me as I was to see +him. They told me afterward that he was a man-killer. Man-killer +nothing! Why, I rode that horse for over a hundred miles down the +lake-shore with not a sign of a bridle on him. + +"Of course, he don't seem to like other men much, and he did lay up one +or two of my hostlers before I understood him. You see"--here Mr. Lafe, +furniture magnate, flushed consciously--"I can't have any but red-headed +men--red-headed like me, you know--about my stable, on account of Blue +Blazes. Course, it's foolish, but I guess the old fellow had a tough +time of it when he was young, same as I did; and now--well, he just +suits me, Blue Blazes does. I'd rather ride or drive him than any +thoroughbred in this country; and, by jinks, I'm bound he gets whatever +he wants, even if I have to lug in a lot of red-headed men from other +States." + + + + +CHIEFTAIN + +A STORY OF THE HEAVY DRAUGHT SERVICE + + +He was a three-quarter blood Norman, was Chieftain. You would have known +that by his deep, powerful chest, his chunky neck, his substantial, +shaggy-fetlocked legs. He had a family tree, registered sires, you know, +and, had he wished, could have read you a pedigree reaching back to Sir +Navarre (6893). + +Despite all this, Chieftain was guilty of no undue pride. Eight years in +the trucking business takes out of one all such nonsense. True, as a +three-year-old he had given himself some airs. There was small wonder +in that. He had been the boast of Keokuk County for a whole year. "We'll +show 'em what we can do in Indiana," the stockmaster had said as +Chieftain, his silver-white tail carefully done up in red flannel, was +led aboard the cars for shipment East. + +They are not unused to ton-weight horses in the neighborhood of the +Bull's Head, where the great sales-stables are. Still, when Chieftain +was brought out, his fine dappled coat shining like frosted steel in the +sunlight, and his splendid tail, which had been done up in straw crimps +over night, rippling and waving behind him, there was a great craning of +necks among the buyers of heavy draughts. + +"Gentlemen," the red-faced auctioneer had shouted, "here's a buster; one +of the kind you read about, wide as a wagon, with a leg on each corner. +There's a ton of him, a whole ton. Who'll start him at three hundred? +Why, he's as good as money in the bank." + +That had been Chieftain's introduction to the metropolis. But the +triple-hitch is a great leveller. In single harness, even though one +does pull a load, there is chance for individuality. One may toss one's +head; aye, prance a bit on a nipping morning. But get between the poles +of a breast-team, with a horse on either side, and a twelve-ton load at +the trace-ends, and--well, one soon forgets such vanities as pride of +champion sires, and one learns not to prance. + +In his eight years as inside horse of breast-team No. 47, Chieftain had +forgotten much about pedigree, but he had learned many other things. He +had come to know the precise moment when, in easing a heavy load down an +incline, it was safe to slacken away on the breeching and trot gently. +He could tell, merely by glancing at a rise in the roadway, whether a +slow, steady pull was needed, or if the time had come to stick in his +toe-calks and throw all of his two thousand pounds on the collar. He had +learned not to fret himself into a lather about strange noises, and not +to be over-particular as to the kind of company in which he found +himself working. Even though hitched up with a vicious Missouri Modoc on +one side and a raw, half collar-broken Kanuck on the other, he would do +his best to steady them down to the work. He had learned to stop at +crossings when a six-foot Broadway-squad officer held up one finger, and +to give way for no one else. He knew by heart all the road rules of the +crowded way, and he stood for his rights. + +[Illustration: He would do his best to steady them down to the work.] + +So, in stress of storm or quivering summer heat, did Chieftain toil +between the poles, hauling the piled-up truck, year in and year out, up +and down and across the city streets. And in time he had forgotten his +Norman blood, had forgotten that he was the great-grandson of Sir +Navarre. + +Some things there were, however, which Chieftain could not wholly +forget. These memories were not exactly clear, but, vague as they were, +they stuck. They had to do with fields of new grass, with the elastic +feel of dew-moistened turf under one's hoofs, with the enticing smell of +sweet clover in one's nostrils, the sound of gently moving leaves in +one's ears, and the sense that before, as well as behind, were long +hours of delicious leisure. + +It was only in the afternoons that these memories troubled Chieftain. In +the morning one feels fresh and strong and contented, and, when one has +time for any thought at all, there are comforting reflections that in +the nose-bags, swung under the truck-seat, are eight quarts of good +oats, and that noon must come some time or other. + +But along about three o'clock of a July day, with stabling time too far +away to be thought of, when there was nothing to do but to stand +patiently in the glare of the sun-baked freight-yard, while Tim and his +helper loaded on case after case and barrel after barrel, then it was +that Chieftain could not help thinking about the fields of new grass, +and other things connected with his colt days. + +Sometimes, when he was plodding doggedly over the hard pavements, with +every foot-fall jarring tired muscles, he would think how nice it would +be, just for a week or so, to tread again that yielding turf he had +known such a long, long time ago. Then, perhaps, he would slacken just a +bit on the traces, and Tim would give that queer, shrill chirrup of +his, adding, sympathetically: "Come, me bye, come ahn!" Then Chieftain +would tighten the traces in an instant, giving his whole attention to +the business of keeping them taut and of placing each iron-shod hoof +just where was the surest footing. + +In this last you may imagine there is no knack. Perhaps you think it is +done off-hand. Well, it isn't. Ask any experienced draught-horse used to +city trucking. He will tell you that wet cobble-stones, smoothed by much +wear and greased with street slime, cannot be travelled heedlessly. +Either the heel or the toe calks must find a crevice somewhere. If they +do not, you are apt to go on your knees or slide on your haunches. +Flat-rail car-tracks give you unexpected side slips. So do the raised +rims of man-hole covers. But when it comes to wet asphalt--your calks +will not help you there. It's just a case of nice balancing and +trusting to luck. + +Much, of course, depends on the man at the other end of the lines. In +this particular Chieftain was fortunate, for a better driver than Tim +Doyle did not handle leather for the company. Even "the old man"--the +stable-boss--had been known to say as much. + +Chieftain had taken a liking to Tim the first day they turned out +together, when Chieftain was new to the city and to trucking. Driver +Doyle's fondness for Chieftain was of slower growth. In those days there +were other claimants for Tim's affections than his horses. There was a +Mrs. Doyle, for instance. Sometimes Chieftain saw her when Tim drove the +truck anywhere in the vicinity of the flat-house in which he lived. She +would come out and look at the team, and Tim would tell what fine horses +he had. There was a young Tim, too, a big, growing boy, who would now +and then ride on the truck with his father. + +One day--it was during Chieftain's fifth year in the service--something +had happened to Mrs. Doyle. Tim had not driven for three days that time, +and when he did come back he was a very sober Tim. He told Chieftain all +about it, because he had no one else to tell. Soon after this young Tim, +who had grown up, went away somewhere, and from that time on the +friendship between old Tim and Chieftain became closer than ever. Tim +spent more and more of his time at the stable, until at the end, he +fixed himself a bunk in the night watchman's office and made it his +home. + +So, for three years or more Chieftain had always had a good-night pat on +the flank from Tim, and in the morning, after the currying and rubbing, +they had a little friendly banter, in the way of love-slaps from Tim +and good-natured nosings from Chieftain. Perhaps many of Tim's +confidences were given half in jest, and perhaps Chieftain sometimes +thought that Tim was a bit slow in perception, but, all in all, each +understood the other, even better than either realized. + +Of course, Chieftain could not tell Tim of all those vague longings +which had to do with new grass and springy turf, nor could he know that +Tim had similar longings. These thoughts each kept to himself. But if +Chieftain was of Norman blood, a horse whose noble sires had ranged +pasture and paddock free from rein or trace, Tim was a Doyle whose +father and grandfather had lived close to the good green sod, and had +done their toil in the open, with the cool and calm of the country to +soothe and revive them. + +Of such delights as these both Chieftain and Tim had tasted scantily, +hurriedly, in youth; and for them, in the lapses of the daily grind, +both yearned, each after his own fashion. + +And, each in his way, Tim and Chieftain were philosophers. As the years +had come and gone, toil-filled and uneventful, the character of the man +had ripened and mellowed, the disposition of the horse had settled and +sweetened. + +In his earlier days Tim had been ready to smash a wheel or lose one, to +demand right of way with profane unction, and to back his word with +whip, fist, or bale-hook. But he had learned to yield an inch on +occasion and to use the soft word. + +Chieftain, too, in his first years between the poles, had sometimes been +impatient with the untrained mates who from time to time joined the +team. He had taken part in mane-biting and trace-kicking, especially on +days when the loads were heavy and the flies thick, conditions which try +the best of horse tempers. But he had steadied down into a pole-horse +who could set an example that was worth more than all the six-foot +lashes ever tied to a whip-stock. + +It was during the spring of Chieftain's eighth year with the company +that things really began to happen. First there came rheumatism to Tim. +Trucking uses up men as well as horses, you know. While it is the hard +work and the heavy feeding of oats which burn out the animal, it is +generally the exposure and the hard drinking which do for the men. Tim, +however, was always moderate in his use of liquor, so he lasted longer +than most drivers. But at one-and-forty the wearing of rain-soaked +clothes called for reprisal. One wet May morning, after vainly trying to +hobble about the stable, Tim, with a bottle of horse liniment under his +arm, gave it up and went back to his bunk. + +Team No. 47 went out that day with a new driver, a cousin of the +stable-boss, who had never handled anything better than common, +light-weight express horses. How Chieftain did miss Tim those next few +days! The new man was slow at loading, and, to make up the time, he cut +short their dinner-hour. Now it is not the wise thing to hurry horses +who have just eaten eight quarts of oats. The team finished the day well +blown, and in a condition generally bad. Next day the new man let the +off horse stumble, and there was a pair of barked knees to be doctored. + +Matters went from bad to worse, until on the fourth day came the climax. +Sludge acid is an innocent-appearing liquid which sometimes stands in +pools near gas-works. Good drivers know enough to avoid it. It is bad +for the hoofs. The new man still had many things to learn, and this +happened to be one of them. In the morning Team 47 was disabled. The +company's veterinary looked at the spongy hoofs and remarked to the +stable-boss: "About three weeks on the farm will fix 'em all right, I +guess; but I should advise you to chuck that new driver out of the +window; he's too expensive for us." + +That was how Chieftain's yearnings happened to be gratified at last. The +company, it seems, has a big farm, somewhere "up State," to which +disabled horses are sent for rest and recuperation. Invalided drivers +must look out for themselves. You can get a hundred truck drivers by +hanging out a sign: good draught horses are to be had only for a price. + +Chieftain and Tim parted with mutual misgivings. To a younger horse the +long ride in the partly open stock-car might have been a novelty, but to +Chieftain, accustomed to ferries and the sight of all manner of wheeled +things, it was without new sensations. + +At the end of the ride--ah, that was different. There were the sweet, +fresh fields, the springy green turf, the trees--all just as he had +dreamed a hundred times. Halterless and shoe-freed, Chieftain pranced +about the pasture for all the world like a two-year-old. With head and +tail up he ranged the field. He even tried a roll on the grass. Then, +when he was tired, he wandered about, nibbling now and then at a +tempting bunch of grass, but mainly exulting in his freedom. There were +other company horses in the field, but most of them were busy grazing. +Each was disabled in some way. One was half foundered, one had a +leg-sprain, another swollen joints; but hoof complaints, such as +toe-cracks, quarter-cracks, brittle feet, and the like, were the most +frequent ills. They were not a cheerful lot, and they were unsociable. + +Chieftain went ambling off by himself, and in due time made acquaintance +with a rather gaunt, weather-beaten sorrel who hung his head lonesomely +over the fence from an adjoining pasture. He seemed grateful for the +notice taken of him by the big Norman, and soon they were the best of +friends. For hours they stood with their muzzles close together or their +necks crossed in fraternal fashion, swapping horse gossip after the +manner of their kind. + +The sorrel, it appeared, was farm-bred and farm-reared. He knew little +or nothing of pavements and city hauling. All his years had been spent +in the country. In spite of his bulging ribs and unkempt coat Chieftain +almost envied him. What a fine thing it must be to live as the sorrel +lived, to crop the new grass, to feel the turf under your feet, and to +drink, instead of the hard stuff one gets from the hydrant, the soft +sweet brook water, to drink it standing fetlock deep in the +hoof-soothing mud! But the sorrel was lacking in enthusiasm for country +life. + +About the fifth day of his rustication the sharp edge of Chieftain's +appreciation became dulled. He discovered that pasture life was wanting +in variety. Also he missed his oats. When one has been accustomed to +twenty-four quarts a day, and hay besides, grass seems a mild +substitute. Graze industriously as he would, it was hard to get enough. +The sorrel, however, was sure Chieftain would get used to all that. + +In time, of course, the talk turned to the pulling of heavy loads. The +sorrel mentioned the yanking of a hay-rick, laden with two tons of +clover, from the far meadow lot to the barn. Two tons! Chieftain snorted +in mild disdain. Had not his team often swung down Broadway with sixteen +tons on the truck? To be sure, narrow tires and soft-going made a +difference. + +The country horse suggested that dragging a breaking plough through old +sod was strenuous employment. Yes, it might be, but had the sorrel ever +tightened the traces for a dash up a ferry bridgeway when the tide was +out? No, the sorrel had done his hauling on land. He had never ridden on +boats. He had heard them, though. They were noisy things, almost as +noisy as an old Buckeye mower going over a stony field. + +[Illustration: Then let him snake a truck down West Street.] + +Noise! Would the sorrel like to know what noise really was? Then let him +be hooked into a triple Boston backing hitch and snake a truck down West +Street, with the whiffle-trees slatting in front of him, the +spreader-bar rapping jig time on the poles, and the gongs of street-cars +and automobiles and fire-engines and ambulances all going at once. +Noise? Let him mix in a Canal Street jam or back up for a load on a +North River pier! + +And as Chieftain recalled these things the contrast of the pasture's +oppressive stillness to the lively roar of the familiar streets came +home to him. Who was taking his place between the poles of Team 47? Had +they put one of those cheeky Clydes in his old stall? He would not care +to lose that stall. It was the best on the second floor. It had a window +in it, and Sundays he could see everything that went on in the street +below. He could even look into the front rooms of the tenements across +the way. There was a little girl over there who interested Chieftain +greatly. She was trying to raise some sort of a flower in a tin can +which she kept on the window-ledge. She often waved her hand at +Chieftain. + +Then there was poor Tim Doyle. Good old Tim! Where was another driver +like him? He made you work, Tim did, but he looked out for you all the +time. Always on the watch, was Tim, for galled spots, chafing sores, +hoof-pricks, and things like that. If he could get them he would put on +fresh collar-pads every week. And how carefully he would cover you up +when you were on the forward end of a ferryboat in stormy weather. No +tossing the blanket over your back from Tim. No, sir! It was always +doubled about your neck and chest, just where you most need protection +when you're steaming hot and the wind is raw. How many drivers warmed +the bits on a cold morning or rinsed out your mouth in hot weather? Who, +but Tim could drive a breast team through a---- + +But just here Chieftain heard a shrill, familiar whistle, and in a +moment, with as much speed as his heavy build allowed, he was making his +way across the field to where a short, stocky man with a broad grin +cleaving his face, was climbing the pasture-fence. It was Tim Doyle +himself. + +Tim, it seems, had so bothered the stable-boss with questions about the +farm, its location, distance from the city, and general management, that +at last that autocrat had said: "See here, Doyle, if you want to go up +there just say so and I'll send you as car hostler with the next batch. +I'll give you a note to the farm superintendent. Guess he'll let you +hang around for a week or so." + +"I'll go up as hostler," said Tim, "but you just say in that there note +that Tim Doyle pays his own way after he gets there." + +In that way it was settled. For some four days Tim appeared to enjoy it +greatly. Most of his time he spent sitting on the pasture-fence, smoking +his pipe and watching the grazing horses. To Chieftain alone he brought +great bunches of clover. + +About the fifth day Tim grew restive. He had examined Chieftain's hoofs +and pronounced them well healed, but the superintendent said that it +would be a week before he should be ready to send another lot of horses +back to the city. + +"How far is it by road?" asked Tim. + +"Oh, two hundred miles or so," said the superintendent. + +"Why not let me take Chieftain down that way? It'd be cheaper'n shippin' +him, an' do him good." + +The superintendent only laughed and said he would ship Chieftain with +the others, when he was ready. + +That evening Tim sat on the bench before the farm-house and smoked his +pipe until everyone else had gone to bed. The moon had risen, big and +yellow. In a pond behind the stables it seemed as if ten thousand frogs +had joined in one grand chorus. They were singing their mating song, if +you know what that is. It is not altogether a cheerful or harmonious +effort. Next to the soughing of a November wind it is, perhaps, the most +dismally lonesome sound in nature. + +For two hours Tim Doyle smoked and thought and listened. Then he knocked +the ashes out of his pipe and decided that he had been long enough in +the country. He would walk to the station, two miles away, and take the +midnight train to the city. As he went down the farm road skirting the +pasture he saw in the moonlight the sheds where the horses went at night +for shelter. Moved by some sudden whim, he stopped and whistled. A +moment later a big horse appeared from under the shed and came toward +him, neighing gratefully. It was Chieftain. + +"Well, Chieftain, me bye, I'll be lavin' ye for a spell. But I'll have +yer old stall ready against yer comin' back. Good-by, laddie," and with +this Tim patted Chieftain on the nose and started down the road. He had +gone but a few steps when he heard Chieftain whinny. Tim stopped +irresolutely, and then went on. Again came the call of the horse. There +was no misunderstanding its meaning. Tim walked back to the fence. + +In the morning the farm superintendent found on the door-sill a roughly +pencilled note which read: + +"Hav goan bak to the sitty P S chefetun warnted to goe so I tuk him. Tim +Doyle." + +They were ten days on the road, ten delightful days of irresponsible +vagabondism. Sometimes Tim rode on Chieftain's back and sometimes he +walked beside him. At night they took shelter in any stable that was +handy. Tim invested in a bridle and saddle blanket. Also he bought oats +and hay for Chieftain. The big Norman followed his own will, stopping to +graze by the roadside whenever he wished. Together they drank from +brooks and springs. Between them was perfect comradeship. Each was in +holiday mood and each enjoyed the outing to the fullest. As they passed +through towns they attracted no little attention, for outside of the +city 2,000-pound horses are seldom seen, and there were many admirers +of Chieftain's splendid proportions. Tim had many offers from shrewd +horse-dealers. + +"Ye would, eh? A whole hundred dollars!" Tim would answer with fine +sarcasm. "Now, wouldn't that be too much, don't ye think? My, my, what a +generous mon it is! G'wan, Chieftain, er Mister Car-na-gy here'll be +after givin' us a lib'ry." + +Chieftain, and Tim, too, for that matter, were nearer actual freedom +than ever before. For years the big Norman had used his magnificent +muscles only for straining at the traces. He had trod only the hard +pavements. Now, he put forth his glorious strength at leisure, moving +along the pleasant country roads at his own gait, and being guided only +when a turning was to be made. + +Fine as it all was, however, as they drew near to the city both horse +and driver became eager to reach their old quarters. Tim was, for he has +said so. As for Chieftain--let the stable-boss, who knows horse-nature +better than most men know themselves, tell that part of the story. + +"Bigger lunatics than them two, Tim Doyle and old Chieftain, I never set +eyes on," he says. "I was standin' down here by the double doors +watchin' some of the day-teams unhook when I looks up the street on a +sudden. An' there, tail an' head up like he was a 'leven-hundred-pound +Kentucky hunter 'stead of heavy-weight draught, comes that old +Chieftain, a whinnyin' like a three-year-old. An' on his back, mind you, +old Tim Doyle, grinnin' away 'sif he was Tod Sloan finishin' first at +the Brooklyn Handicap. Tickled? I never see a horse show anything so +plain in all my life. He just streaked it up that runway and into his +old stall like he was a prodigal son come back from furren parts. + +"Yes, Tim he's out on the truck with his old team. Tim don't have to +drive nowadays, you know. Brother of his that was in the contractin' +business died about three months ago an' left Tim quite a pile. Tim, he +says he guesses the money won't take no hurt in the bank and that some +day, when he an' Chieftain git ready to retire, maybe it'll come in +handy." + + + + +BARNACLES + +WHO MUTINIED FOR GOOD CAUSE + + +With his coming to Sculpin Point there was begun for Barnacles the most +surprising period of a more or less useful career which had been filled +with unusual equine activities. For Barnacles was a horse, a white horse +of unguessed breed and uncertain age. + +Most likely it was not, but it may have been, Barnacles's first intimate +connection with an affair of the heart. Said affair was between Captain +Bastabol Bean, owner and occupant of Sculpin Point, and Mrs. Stashia +Buckett, the unlamenting relict of the late Hosea Buckett. + +Mrs. Buckett it was who induced Captain Bastabol Bean to purchase a +horse. Captain Bean, you will understand, had just won the affections of +the plump Mrs. Buckett. Also he had, with a sailor's ignorance of +feminine ways, presumed to settle off-hand the details of the coming +nuptials. + +"I'll sail over in the dory Monday afternoon," said he, "and take you +back with me to Sculpin Point. You can have your dunnage sent over later +by team. In the evenin' we'll have a shore chaplain come 'round an' make +the splice." + +"Cap'n Bean," replied the rotund Stashia, "we won't do any of them +things, not one." + +"Wha-a-at!" gasped the Captain. + +"Have you ever been married, Cap'n Bean?" + +"N-n-no, my dear." + +"Well, I have, and I guess I know how it ought to be done. You'll have +the minister come here, and here _you'll_ come to marry me. You won't +come in no dory, either. Catch me puttin' my two hundred an' thirty +pounds into a little boat like that. You'll drive over here with a +horse, like a respectable person, and you'll drive back with me, by land +and past Sarepta Tucker's house so's she can see." + +Now for more than thirty years Bastabol Bean, as master of coasting +schooners up and down the Atlantic seaboard, had given orders. He had +taken none, except the formal directions of owners. He did not propose +to begin taking them now, not even from such an altogether charming +person as Stashia Buckett. This much he said. Then he added: + +"Stashia, I give in about coming here to marry you; that seems no more +than fair. But I'll come in a dory and you'll go back in a dory." + +"Then you needn't come at all, Cap'n Bastabol Bean." + +Argue and plead as he might, this was her ultimatum. + +"But, Stashia, I 'ain't got a horse, never owned one an' never handled +one, and you know it," urged the Captain. + +"Then it's high time you had a horse and knew how to drive him. Besides, +if I go to Sculpin Point I shall want to come to the village once in a +while. I sha'n't sail and I sha'n't walk. If I can't ride like a lady I +don't go to the Point." + +The inevitable happened. Captain Bean promised to buy a horse next day. +Hence his visit to Jed Holden and his introduction to Barnacles, as the +Captain immediately named him. + +As one who inspects an unfamiliar object, Captain Bean looked dazedly at +Barnacles. At the same time Barnacles inspected the Captain. With head +lowered to knee level, with ears cocked forward, nostrils sniffing and +under-lip twitching almost as if he meant to laugh, Barnacles eyed his +prospective owner. In common with most intelligent horses, he had an +almost human way of expressing curiosity. + +Captain Bean squirmed under the gaze of Barnacles's big, calm eyes for a +moment, and then shifted his position. + +"What in time does he want anyway, Jed?" demanded the Captain. + +"Wants to git acquainted, that's all, Cap'n. Mighty knowin' hoss, he is. +Now some hosses don't take notice of anything. They're jest naturally +dumb. Then agin you'll find hosses that seem to know every blamed word +you say. Them's the kind of hosses that's wuth havin." + +"S'pose he knows all the ropes, Jed?" + +"I should say he did, Cap'n. If there's anything that hoss ain't done in +his day I don't know what 'tis. Near's I can find out he's tried every +kind of work, in or out of traces, that you could think of." + +"Sho!" The Captain was now looking at the old white horse in an +interested manner. + +"Yes, sir, that's a remarkable hoss," continued the now enthusiastic Mr. +Holden. "He's been in the cavalry service, for he knows the bugle calls +like a book. He's travelled with a circus--ain't no more afraid of +elephants than I be. He's run on a fire engine--know that 'cause he +wants to chase old Reliance every time she turns out. He's been a +street-car hoss, too. You jest ring a door gong behind him twice an' see +how quick he'll dig in his toes. The feller I got him off'n said he knew +of his havin' been used on a milk wagon, a pedler's cart and a hack. +Fact is, he's an all round worker." + +"Must be some old by your tell," suggested the Captain. "Sure his +timbers are all sound?" + +"Dun'no' 'bout his timbers, Cap'n, but as fer wind an' limb you won't +find a sounder hoss, of his age, in this county. Course, I'm not sellin' +him fer a four-year-old. But for your work, joggin' from the P'int into +the village an' back once or twice a week, I sh'd say he was jest the +ticket; an' forty-five, harness an' all as he stands, is dirt cheap." + +Again Captain Bean tried to look critically at the white horse, but once +more he met that calm, curious gaze and the attempt was hardly a +success. However, the Captain squinted solemnly over Barnacles's withers +and remarked: + +"Yes, he has got some good lines, as you say, though you wouldn't +hardly call him clipper built. Not much sheer for'ard an' a leetle too +much aft, eh?" + +At this criticism Jed snorted mirthfully. + +"Oh, I s'pose he's all right," quickly added the Captain. "Fact is, I +ain't never paid much attention to horses, bein' on the water so much. +You're sure he'll mind his helm, Jed?" + +"Oh, he'll go where you p'int him." + +"Won't drag anchor, will he?" + +"Stand all day if you'll let him." + +"Well, Jed, I'm ready to sign articles, I guess." + +It was about noon that a stable-boy delivered Barnacles at Sculpin +Point. His arrival caused Lank Peters to suspend peeling the potatoes +for dinner and demand explanation. + +"Who's the hoss for, Cap'n?" asked Lank. + +It was a question that Captain Bean had been dreading for two hours. +When he had given up coasting, bought the strip of Massachusetts +seashore known as Sculpin Point, built a comfortable cottage on it and +settled down within sight and sound of the salt water, he had brought +with him Lank Peters, who for a dozen years had presided over the galley +in the Captain's ship. + +More than a mere sea-cook was Lank Peters to Captain Bean. He was +confidential friend, advising philosopher, and mate of Sculpin Point. +Yet from Lank had the Captain carefully concealed all knowledge of his +affair with the Widow Buckett. The time of confession was at hand. + +In his own way and with a directness peculiar to all his acts, did +Captain Bean admit the full sum of his rashness, adding, thoughtfully: +"I s'pose you won't have to do much cookin' after Stashia comes; but +you'll still be mate, Lank, and there'll be plenty to keep you busy on +the P'int." + +Quietly and with no show of emotion, as befitted a sea-cook and a +philosopher, Melankthon Peters heard these revelations. If he had his +prejudices as to the wisdom or folly of marrying widows, he said no +word. But in the matter of Barnacles he felt more free to express +something of his uneasiness. + +"I didn't ship for no hostler, Cap'n, an' I guess I'll make a poor fist +at it, but I'll do my best," he said. + +"Guess we'll manage him between us, Lank," cheerfully responded the +Captain. "I ain't got much use for horses myself; but as I said, +Stashia, she's down on boats." + +"Kinder sot in her idees, ain't she, Cap'n?" insinuated Lank. + +"Well, kinder," the Captain admitted. + +Lank permitted himself to chuckle guardedly. Captain Bastabol Bean, as +an innumerable number of sailor-men had learned, was a person who +generally had his own way. Intuitively the Captain understood that Lank +had guessed of his surrender. A grim smile was barely suggested by the +wrinkles about his mouth and eyes. + +"Lank," he said, "the Widow Buckett an' me had some little argument over +this horse business an'--an'--I give in. She told me flat she wouldn't +come to the P'int if I tried to fetch her by water in the dory. Well, I +want Stashia mighty bad; for she's a fine woman, Lank, a mighty fine +woman, as you'll say when you know her. So I promised to bring her home +by land and with a horse. I'm bound to do it, too. But by time!" Here +the Captain suddenly slapped his knee. "I've just been struck with a +notion. Lank, I'm going to see what you think of it." + +For an hour Captain and mate sat in the sun, smoked their pipes and +talked earnestly. Then they separated. Lank began a close study of +Barnacles's complicated rigging. The Captain tramped off toward the +village. + +Late in the afternoon the Captain returned riding in a sidebar buggy +with a man. Behind the buggy they towed a skeleton lumber wagon--four +wheels connected by an extension pole. The man drove away in the sidebar +leaving the Captain and the lumber wagon. + +Barnacles, who had been moored to a kedge-anchor, watched the next day's +proceedings with interest. He saw the Captain and Lank drag up from the +beach the twenty-foot dory and hoist it up between the wheels. Through +the forward part of the keelson they bored a hole for the king-bolt. +With nut-bolts they fastened the stern to the rear axle, adding some +very seamanlike lashings to stay the boat in place. As finishing touches +they painted the upper strakes of the dory white, giving to the lower +part and to the running-gear of the cart a coat of sea-green. + +Barnacles was experienced, but a vehicle such as this amphibious product +of Sculpin Point he had never before seen. With ears pointed and +nostrils palpitating from curiosity, he was led up to the boat-bodied +wagon. Reluctantly he backed under the raised shafts. The practice-hitch +was enlivened by a monologue, on the part of Captain Bean, which ran +something like this: + +"Now, Lank, pass aft that backstay [the trace] and belay; no, not there! +Belay to that little yard-arm [whiffle-tree]. Got it through the +lazy-jack [trace-bearer]? Now reeve your jib-sheets [lines] through them +dead-eyes [hame rings] and pass 'em aft. Now where in Tophet does this +thingumbob [holdback] go? Give it a turn around the port bowsprit +[shaft]. There, guess everything's taut." + +The Captain stood off to take an admiring glance at the turnout. + +"She's down by the bow some, Lank, but I guess she'll lighten when we +get aboard. See what you think." + +Lank's inspection caused him to meditate and scratch his head. Finally +he gave his verdict: "From midships aft she looks as trim as a liner, +but from midships for'ard she looks scousy, like a Norwegian tramp after +a v'yage round The Horn." + +"Color of old Barnacles don't suit, eh? No, it don't, that's so. But I +couldn't find no green an' white horse, Lank." + +"Couldn't we paint him up a leetle, Cap'n?" + +"By Sancho, I never thought of that!" exclaimed Captain Bean. "Course we +can; git a string an' we'll strike a water-line on him." + +With no more ado than as if the thing was quite usual, the preparations +for carrying out this indignity were begun. Perhaps the victim thought +it a new kind of grooming, for he made no protest. Half an hour later +old Barnacles, from about the middle of his barrel down to his shoes, +was painted a beautiful sea-green. Like some resplendent marine monster +shone the lower half of him. It may have been a trifle bizarre, but, +with the sun on the fresh paint, the effect was unmistakably striking. +Besides, his color now matched that of the dory's with startling +exactness. + +"That's what I call real ship-shape," declared Captain Bean, viewing +the result. "Got any more notions, Lank?" + +"Strikes me we ought to ship a mast so's we could rig a sprit-sail in +case the old horse should give out, Cap'n." + +"We'll do it, Lank; fust rate idee!" + +So a mast and sprit-sail were rigged in the dory. Also the lines were +lengthened with rope, that the Captain might steer from the stern +sheets. + +"She's as fine a land-goin' craft as ever I see anywhere," said the +Captain, which was certainly no extravagant statement. + +How Captain Bean and his mate steered the equipage from Sculpin Point to +the village, how they were cheered and hooted along the route, how they +ran into the yard of the Metropolitan Livery Stable as a port of refuge, +how the Captain escaped to the home of Widow Buckett, how the "splicin'" +was accomplished--these are details which must be slighted. + +The climax came when the newly made Mrs. Bastabol Buckett Bean, her +plump hand resting affectionately on the sleeve of the Captain's best +blue broadcloth coat, said, cooingly: "Now, Cap'n, I'm ready to drive to +Sculpin Point." + +"All right, Stashia, Lank's waitin' for us at the front door with the +craft." + +At first sight of the boat on wheels Mrs. Bean could do no more than +attempt, by means of indistinct ejaculation, to express her obvious +emotion. She noted the grinning crowd of villagers, Sarepta Tucker among +them. She saw the white and green dory with its mast, and with Lank, +villainously smiling, at the top of a step-ladder which had been leaned +against the boat; she saw the green wheels, and the verdant gorgeousness +of Barnacles's lower half. For a moment she gazed at the fantastic +equipage and spoke not. Then she slammed the front door with an +indignant bang, marched back into the sitting-room and threw herself on +the haircloth sofa with an abandon that carried away half a dozen +springs. + +For the first hour she reiterated, between vast sobs, that Captain Bean +was a soulless wretch, that she would never set foot on Sculpin Point, +and that she would die there on the sofa rather than ride in such an +outlandish rig. + +Many a time had Captain Bean weathered Hatteras in a southeaster, but +never had he met such a storm of feminine fury as this. However, he +stood by like a man, putting in soothing words of explanation and +endearment whenever a lull gave opportunity. + +Toward evening the storm spent itself. The disturbed Stashia became +somewhat calm. Eventually she laughed hysterically at the Captain's +arguments, and in the end she compromised. Not by day would she enter +the dory wagon, but late in the evening she would swallow her pride and +go, just to please the Captain. + +Thus it was that soon after ten o'clock, when the village folks had +laughed their fill and gone away, the new Mrs. Bean climbed the +step-ladder, bestowed herself unhandily on the midship thwart and, with +Lank on lookout in the bow, and Captain Bean handling the reins from the +stern sheets, the honeymoon chariot got under way. + +By the time they reached the Shell Road the gait of the dejected +Barnacles had dwindled to a deliberate walk which all of Lank's urgings +could not hasten. It was a soft July night with a brisk offshore breeze +and the moon had come up out of the sea to silver the highway and lay a +strip of milk-white carpet over the waves. + +"Ahoy there, Lank!" shouted the bridegroom. "Can't we do better'n this? +Ain't hardly got steerage-way on her." + +"Can't budge him, Cap'n. Hadn't we better shake-out the sprit-sail; +wind's fair abeam." + +"Yes, shake it out, Lank." + +Mrs. Bean's feeble protest was unheeded. As the night wind caught the +sail and rounded it out the flapping caused old Barnacles to cast an +investigating glance behind him. One look at the terrible white thing +which loomed menacingly above him was enough. He decided to bolt. Bolt +he did to the best of his ability, all obstacles being considered. A +down grade in the Shell Road, where it dipped toward the shore, helped +things along. Barnacles tightened the traces, the sprit-sail did its +share, and in an amazingly short time the odd vehicle was spinning +toward Sculpin Point at a ten-knot gait. Desperately Mrs. Bean gripped +the gunwale and lustily she screamed: + +"Whoa, whoa! Stop him, Captain, stop him! He'll smash us all to pieces!" + +"Set right still, Stashia, an' trim ship. I've got the helm," responded +the Captain, who had set his jaws and was tugging at the rope lines. + +"Breakers ahead, sir!" shouted Lank at this juncture. + +Sure enough, not fifty yards ahead, the Shell Road turned sharply away +from the edge of the beach to make a detour by which Sculpin Point was +cut off. + +"I see 'em, Lank." + +"Think we can come about, Cap'n?" asked Lank, anxiously. + +"Ain't goin to try, Lank. I'm layin' a straight course for home. Stand +by to bail." + +How they could possibly escape capsizing Lank could not understand +until, just as Barnacles was about to make the turn, he saw the Captain +tighten the right-hand rein until it was as taut as a weatherstay. Of +necessity Barnacles made no turn, and there was no upset. Something +equally exciting happened, though. + +Leaving the road with a speed which he had not equalled since the days +when he had figured in the "The Grand Hippodrome Races," his sea-green +legs quickened by the impetus of the affair behind him, Barnacles +cleared the narrow strip of beach-grass at a jump. Another leap and he +was hock deep in the surf. Still another, and he split a roller with his +white nose. + +With a dull chug, a resonant thump, and an impetuous splash the dory +entered its accustomed element, lifting some three gallons of salt water +neatly over the bows. Lank ducked. The unsuspecting Stashia did not, +and the flying brine struck fairly under her ample chin. + +"Ug-g-g-gh! Oh! Oh! H-h-h-elp!" spluttered the startled bride, and tried +to get on her feet. + +"Sit down!" roared Captain Bean. Vehemently Stashia sat. + +"W-w-w-we'll all b-b-be d-d-drowned, drowned!" she wailed. + +"Not much we won't, Stashia. We're all right now, and we ain't goin' to +have our necks broke by no fool horse, either. Trim in the sheet, Lank, +an' then take that bailin' scoop." The Captain was now calmly confident +and thoroughly at home. + +Drenched, cowed and trembling, the newly made Mrs. Bean clung +despairingly to the thwart, fully as terrified as the plunging +Barnacles, who struck out wildly with his green legs, and snorted every +time a wave hit him. But the lines held up his head and kept his nose +pointing straight for the little beach on Sculpin Point, perhaps a +quarter of a mile distant. + +Somewhat heavy weather the deep-laden dory made of it, and in spite of +Lank's vigorous bailing the water sloshed around Mrs. Bean's boot-tops, +yet in time the sail and Barnacles brought them safely home. + +"'Twa'n't exactly the kind of honeymoon trip I'd planned, Stashia," +commented the Captain, as he and Lank steadied the bride's dripping bulk +down the step-ladder, "and we did do some sailin', spite of ourselves; +but we had a horse in front an' wheels under us all the way, just as I +promised." + + + + +BLACK EAGLE + +WHO ONCE RULED THE RANGES + + +Of his sire and dam there is no record. All that is known is that he was +raised on a Kentucky stock farm. Perhaps he was a son of Hanover, but +Hanoverian or no, he was a thoroughbred. In the ordinary course of +events he would have been tried out with the other three-year olds for +the big meet on Churchill Downs. In the hands of a good trainer he might +have carried to victory the silk of some great stable and had his name +printed in the sporting almanacs to this day. + +But there was about Black Eagle nothing ordinary, either in his blood +or in his career. He was born for the part he played. So at three, +instead of being entered in his class at Louisville, it happened that he +was shipped West, where his fate waited. + +No more comely three year old ever took the Santa Fé trail. Although he +stood but thirteen hands and tipped the beam at scarcely twelve hundred +weight, you might have guessed him to be taller by two hands. The +deception lay in the way he carried his shapely head and in the manner +in which his arched neck tapered from the well-placed shoulders. + +A horseman would have said that he had a "perfect barrel," meaning that +his ribs were well rounded. His very gait was an embodied essay on +graceful pride. As for his coat, save for a white star just in the +middle of his forehead, it was as black and sleek as the nap on a new +silk hat. After a good rubbing he was so shiny that at a distance you +might have thought him starched and ironed and newly come from the +laundry. + +His arrival at Bar L Ranch made no great stir, however. They were not +connoisseurs of good blood and sleek coats at the Bar L outfit. They +were busy folks who most needed tough animals that could lope off fifty +miles at a stretch. They wanted horses whose education included the fine +art of knowing when to settle back on the rope and dig in toes. It was +not a question as to how fast you could do your seven furlongs. It was +more important to know if you could make yourself useful at a round-up. + +"'Nother bunch o' them green Eastern horses," grumbled the ranch boss as +the lot was turned into a corral. "But that black fellow'd make a +rustler's mouth water, eh, Lefty?" In answer to which the said Lefty, +being a man little given to speech, grunted. + +"We'll brand 'em in the mornin'," added the ranch boss. + +Now most steers and all horses object to the branding process. Even the +spiritless little Indian ponies, accustomed to many ingenious kinds of +abuse, rebel at this. A meek-eyed mule, on whom humility rests as an +all-covering robe, must be properly roped before submitting. + +In branding they first get a rope over your neck and shut off your wind. +Then they trip your feet by roping your forelegs while you are on the +jump. This brings you down hard and with much abruptness. A cowboy sits +on your head while others pin you to the ground from various +vantage-points. Next someone holds a red-hot iron on your rump until it +has sunk deep into your skin. That is branding. + +Well, this thing they did to the black thoroughbred, who had up to that +time felt not so much as the touch of a whip. They did it, but not +before a full dozen cow-punchers had worked themselves into such a fury +of exasperation that no shred of picturesque profanity was left unused +among them. + +Quivering with fear and anger, the black, as soon as the ropes were +taken off, dashed madly about the corral looking in vain for a way of +escape from his torturers. Corrals, however, are built to resist just +such dashes. The burn of a branding iron is supposed to heal almost +immediately. Cowboys will tell you that a horse is always more +frightened than hurt during the operation, and that the day after he +feels none the worse. + +All this you need not credit. A burn is a burn, whether made purposely +with a branding iron or by accident in any other way. The scorched +flesh puckers and smarts. It hurts every time a leg is moved. It seems +as if a thousand needles were playing a tattoo on the exposed surface. +Neither is this the worst of the business. To a high-strung animal the +roping, throwing, and burning is a tremendous nervous shock. For days +after branding a horse will jump and start, quivering with expectant +agony, at the slightest cause. + +It was fully a week before the black thoroughbred was himself again. In +that time he had conceived such a deep and lasting hatred for all men, +cowboys in particular, as only a high-spirited, blue-blooded horse can +acquire. With deep contempt he watched the scrubby little cow ponies as +they doggedly carried about those wild, fierce men who threw their +circling, whistling, hateful ropes, who wore such big, sharp spurs and +who were viciously handy in using their rawhide quirts. + +So when a cowboy put a breaking-bit into the black's mouth there was +another lively scene. It was somewhat confused, this scene, but at +intervals one could make out that the man, holding stubbornly to mane +and forelock, was being slatted and slammed and jerked, now with his +feet on the ground, now thrown high in the air and now dangling +perilously and at various angles as the stallion raced away. + +In the end, of course, came the whistle of the choking, foot-tangling +ropes, and the black was saddled. For a fierce half hour he took +punishment from bit and spur and quirt. Then, although he gave it up, it +was not that his spirit was broken, but because his wind was gone. Quite +passively he allowed himself to be ridden out on the prairie to where +the herds were grazing. + +Undeceived by this apparent docility, the cowboy, when the time came for +him to bunk down under the chuck wagon for a few hours of sleep, +tethered his mount quite securely to a deep-driven stake. Before the +cattleman had taken more than a round dozen of winks the black had +tested his tether to the limit of his strength. The tether stood the +test. A cow pony might have done this much. There he would have stopped. +But the black was a Kentucky thoroughbred, blessed with the inherited +intelligence of noble sires, some of whom had been household pets. So he +investigated the tether at close range. + +Feeling the stake with his sensitive upper lip he discovered it to be +firm as a rock. Next he backed away and wrenched tentatively at the +halter until convinced that the throat strap was thoroughly sound. His +last effort must have been an inspiration. Attacking the taut buckskin +rope with his teeth he worked diligently until he had severed three of +the four strands. Then he gathered himself for another lunge. With a +snap the rope parted and the black dashed away into the night, leaving +the cowboy snoring confidently by the camp-fire. + +All night he ran, on and on in the darkness, stopping only to listen +tremblingly to the echo of his own hoofs and to sniff suspiciously at +the crouching shadows of innocent bushes. By morning he had left the Bar +L outfit many miles behind, and when the red sun rolled up over the edge +of the prairie he saw that he was alone in a field that stretched +unbroken to the circling sky-line. + +Not until noon did the runaway black scent water. Half mad with thirst +he dashed to the edge of a muddy little stream and sucked down a great +draught. As he raised his head he saw standing poised above him on the +opposite bank, with ears laid menacingly flat and nostrils aquiver in +nervous palpitation, a buckskin-colored stallion. + +Snorting from fright the black wheeled and ran. He heard behind him a +shrill neigh of challenge and in a moment the thunder of many hoofs. +Looking back he saw fully a score of horses, the buckskin stallion in +the van, charging after him. That was enough. Filling his great lungs +with air he leaped into such a burst of speed that his pursuers soon +tired of the hopeless chase. Finding that he was no longer followed the +black grew curious. Galloping in a circle he gradually approached the +band. The horses had settled down to the cropping of buffalo grass, only +the buckskin stallion, who had taken a position on a little knoll, +remaining on guard. + +The surprising thing about this band was that each and every member +seemed riderless. Not until he had taken long up-wind sniffs was the +thoroughbred convinced of this fact. When certain on this point he +cantered toward the band, sniffing inquiringly. Again the buckskin +stallion charged, ears back, eyes gleaming wickedly and snorting +defiantly. This time the black stood his ground until the buckskin's +teeth snapped savagely within a few inches of his throat. Just in time +did he rear and swerve. Twice more--for the paddock-raised black was +slow to understand such behavior--the buckskin charged. Then the black +was roused into aggressiveness. + +There ensued such a battle as would have brought delight to the brute +soul of a Nero. With fore-feet and teeth the two stallions engaged, +circling madly about on their hind legs, tearing up great clods of +turf, biting and striking as opportunity offered. At last, by a quick, +desperate rush, the buckskin caught the thoroughbred fairly by the +throat. Here the affair would have ended had not the black stallion, +rearing suddenly on his muscle-ridged haunches and lifting his +opponent's forequarters clear of the ground, showered on his enemy such +a rain of blows from his iron-shod feet that the wild buckskin dropped +to the ground, dazed and vanquished. + +Standing over him, with all the fierce pride of a victorious gladiator +showing in every curve of his glistening body, the black thoroughbred +trumpeted out a stentorian call of defiance and command. The band, that +had watched the struggle from a discreet distance, now came galloping +in, whinnying in friendly fashion. + +Black Eagle had won his first fight. He had won the leadership. By right +of might he was now chief of this free company of plains rangers. It +was for him to lead whither he chose, to pick the place and hour of +grazing, the time for watering, and his to guard his companions from all +dangers. + +As for the buckskin stallion, there remained for him the choice of +humbly following the new leader or of limping off alone to try to raise +a new band. Being a worthy descendant of the chargers which the men of +Cortez rode so fearlessly into the wilds of the New World he chose the +latter course, and, having regained his senses, galloped stiffly toward +the north, his bruised head lowered in defeat. + +Some months later Arizona stockmen began to hear tales of a great band +of wild horses, led by a magnificent black stallion which was fleeter +than a scared coyote. There came reports of much mischief. Cattle were +stampeded by day, calves trampled to death, and steers scattered far +and wide over the prairie. By night bunches of tethered cow ponies +disappeared. The exasperated cowboys could only tell that suddenly out +of the darkness had swept down on their quiet camps an avalanche of wild +horses. And generally they caught glimpses of a great black branded +stallion who led the marauders at such a pace that he seemed almost to +fly through the air. + +This stallion came to be known as Black Eagle, and to be thoroughly +feared and hated from one end of the cattle country to the other. The +Bar L ranch appeared to be the heaviest loser. Time after time were its +picketed mares run off, again and again were the Bar L herds scattered +by the dash of this mysterious band. Was it that Black Eagle could take +revenge? Cattlemen have queer notions. They put a price on his head. It +was worth six months wages to any cowboy who might kill or capture +Black Eagle. + +About this time Lefty, the silent man of the Bar L outfit, disappeared. +Weeks went by and still the branded stallion remained free and unhurt, +for no cow horse in all the West could keep him in sight half an hour. + +Black Eagle had been the outlaw king of the ranges for nearly two years +when one day, as he was standing at lookout while the band cropped the +rich mesa grass behind him, he saw entering the cleft end of a distant +arroyo a lone cowboy mounted on a dun little pony. With quick +intelligence the stallion noted that this arroyo wound about until its +mouth gave upon the side of the mesa not a hundred yards from where he +stood. + +Promptly did Black Eagle act. Calling his band he led it at a sharp pace +to a sheltered hollow on the mesa's back slope. There he left it and +hurried away to take up his former position. He had not waited long +before the cowboy, riding stealthily, reappeared at the arroyo's mouth. +Instantly the race was on. Tossing his fine head in the air and +switching haughtily his splendid tail, Black Eagle laid his course in a +direction which took him away from his sheltered band. Pounding along +behind came the cowboy, urging to utmost endeavor the tough little +mustang which he rode. + +Had this been simply a race it would have lasted but a short time. But +it was more than a race. It was a conflict of strategists. Black Eagle +wished to do more than merely out-distance his enemy. He meant to lead +him far away and then, under cover of night, return to his band. + +Also the cowboy had a purpose. Well knowing that he could neither +overtake nor tire the black stallion, he intended to ride him down by +circling. In circling, the pursuer rides toward the pursued from an +angle, gradually forcing his quarry into a circular course whose +diameter narrows with every turn. + +This, however, was a trick Black Eagle had long ago learned to block. +Sure of his superior speed he galloped away in a line straight as an +arrow's flight, paying no heed at all to the manner in which he was +followed. Before midnight he had rejoined his band, while far off on the +prairie was a lone cowboy moodily frying bacon over a sage-brush fire. + +But this pursuer was no faint heart. Late the next day he was sighted +creeping cunningly up to windward. Again there was a race, not so long +this time, for the day was far spent, but with the same result. + +When for the third time there came into view this same lone cowboy, +Black Eagle was thoroughly aroused to the fact that this persistent +rider meant mischief. Having once more led the cowboy a long and +fruitless chase the great black gathered up his band and started south. +Not until noon of the next day did he halt, and then only because many +of the mares were in bad shape. For a week the band was moved on. During +intervals of rest a sharp lookout was kept. Watering places, where an +enemy might lurk, were approached only after the most careful scouting. + +Despite all caution, however, the cowboy finally appeared on the +horizon. Unwilling to endanger the rest of the band, and perhaps wishing +a free hand in coping with this evident Nemesis, Black Eagle cantered +boldly out to meet him. Just beyond gun range the stallion turned +sharply at right angles and sped off over the prairie. + +There followed a curious chase. Day after day the great black led his +pursuer on, stopping now and then to graze or take water, never allowing +him to cross the danger line, but never leaving him wholly out of sight. +It was a course of many windings which Black Eagle took, now swinging +far to the west to avoid a ranch, now circling east along a water-course, +again doubling back around the base of a mesa, but in the main going +steadily northward. Up past the brown Maricopas they worked, across the +turgid Gila, skirting Lone Butte desert; up, up and on until in the +distance glistened the bald peaks of Silver range. + +Never before did a horse play such a dangerous game, and surely none +ever showed such finesse. Deliberately trailing behind him an enemy bent +on taking either his life or freedom, not for a moment did Black Eagle +show more than imperative caution. At the close of each day when, by a +few miles of judicious galloping, he had fully winded the cowboy's +mount, the sagacious black would circle to the rear of his pursuer and +often, in the gloom of early night, walk recklessly near to the camp of +his enemy just for the sake of sniffing curiously. But each morning, as +the cowboy cooked his scant breakfast, he would see, standing a few +hundred rods away, Black Eagle, patiently waiting for the chase to be +resumed. + +Day after day was the hunted black called upon to foil a new ruse. +Sometimes it was a game of hide and seek among the buttes, and again it +was an early morning sally by the cowboy. + +Once during a mid-day stop the dun mustang was turned out to graze. +Black Eagle followed suit. A half mile to windward he could see the cow +pony, and beside it, evidently sitting with his back toward his quarry, +the cowboy. For a half hour, perhaps, all was peace and serenity. Then, +as a cougar springing from his lair, there blazed out of the bushes on +the bank of a dry water-course to leeward a rifle shot. + +Black Eagle felt a shock that stretched him on the grass. There arrived +a stinging at the top of his right shoulder and a numbing sensation all +along his backbone. Madly he struggled to get on his feet, but he could +do no more than raise his fore quarters on his knees. As he did so he +saw running toward him from the bushes, coatless and hatless, his +relentless pursuer. Black Eagle had been tricked. The figure by the +distant mustang then, was only a dummy. He had been shot from ambush. +Human strategy had won. + +With one last desperate effort, which sent the red blood spurting from +the bullet hole in his shoulder, Black Eagle heaved himself up until he +sat on his haunches, braced by his fore-feet set wide apart. + +Then, just as the cowboy brought his rifle into position for the +finishing shot, the stallion threw up his handsome head, his big eyes +blazing like two stars, and looked defiantly at his enemy. + +Slowly, steadily the cowboy took aim at the sleek black breast behind +which beat the brave heart of the wild thoroughbred. With finger +touching the trigger he glanced over the sights and looked into those +big, bold eyes. For a full minute man and horse faced each other thus. +Then the cowboy, in an uncertain, hesitating manner, lowered his rifle. +Calmly Black Eagle waited. But the expected shot never came. Instead, +the cowboy walked cautiously toward the wounded stallion. + +No move did Black Eagle make, no fear did he show. With a splendid +indifference worthy of a martyr he sat there, paying no more heed to his +approaching enemy than to the red stream which trickled down his +shoulder. He was helpless and knew it, but his noble courage was +unshaken. Even when the man came close enough to examine the wound and +pat the shining neck that for three years had known neither touch of +hand nor bridle-rein, the great stallion did no more than follow with +curious, steady gaze. + +It is an odd fact that a feral horse, although while free even wilder +and fiercer than those native to the prairies, when once returned to +captivity resumes almost instantly the traits and habits of domesticity. +So it was with Black Eagle. With no more fuss than he would have made +when he was a colt in paddock he allowed the cowboy to wash and dress +his wounded shoulder and to lead him about by the halter. + +By a little stream that rounded the base of a big butte, Lefty--for it +was he--made camp, and every day for a week he applied to Black Eagle's +shoulder a fresh poultice of pounded cactus leaves. In that time the big +stallion and the silent man buried distrust and hate and enmity. No +longer were they captive and captor. They came nearer to being congenial +comrades than anything else, for in the calm solitudes of the vast +plains such sentiments may thrive. + +So, when the wound was fully healed, the black permitted himself to be +bridled and saddled. With the cow pony following as best it might they +rode toward Santa Fé. + +With Black Eagle's return to the cramped quarters of peopled places +there came experiences entirely new to him. Every morning he was +saddled by Lefty and ridden around a fence-enclosed course. At first he +was allowed to set his own gait, but gradually he was urged to show his +speed. This was puzzling but not a little to his liking. Also he enjoyed +the oats twice a day and the careful grooming after each canter. He +became accustomed to stall life and to the scent and voices of men about +him, although as yet he trusted none but Lefty. Ever kind and +considerate he had found Lefty. There were times, of course, when Black +Eagle longed to be again on the prairie at the head of his old band, but +the joy of circling the track almost made up for the loss of those wild +free dashes. + +One day when Lefty took him out Black Eagle found many other horses on +the track, while around the enclosure he saw gathered row on row of men +and women. A band was playing and flags were snapping in the breeze. +There was a thrill of expectation in the air. Black Eagle felt it, and +as he pranced proudly down the track there was lifted a murmur of +applause and appreciation which made his nerves tingle strangely. + +Just how it all came about the big stallion did not fully understand at +the time. He heard a bell ring sharply, heard also the shouts of men, +and suddenly found himself flying down the course in company with a +dozen other horses and riders. They had finished half the circle before +Black Eagle fully realized that a gaunt, long-barrelled bay was not only +leading him but gaining with every leap. Tossing his black mane in the +wind, opening his bright nostrils and pointing his thin, close set ears +forward he swung into the long prairie stride which he was wont to use +when leading his wild band. A half dozen leaps brought him abreast the +gaunt bay, and then, feeling Lefty's knees pressing his shoulders and +hearing Lefty's voice whispering words of encouragement in his ears, +Black Eagle dashed ahead to rush down through the lane of frantically +shouting spectators, winner by a half dozen lengths. + +That was the beginning of Black Eagle's racing career. How it +progressed, how he won races and captured purses in a seemingly endless +string of victories unmarred by a single defeat, that is part of the +turf records of the South and West. + +There had to be an end, of course. Owners of carefully bred running +horses took no great pleasure, you may imagine, in seeing so many rich +prizes captured by a half-wild branded stallion of no known pedigree, +and ridden by a silent, square-jawed cowboy. So they sent East for a +"ringer." He came from Chicago in a box-car with two grooms and he was +entered as an unknown, although in the betting ring the odds posted were +one to five on the stranger. Yet it was a grand race. This alleged +unknown, with a suppressed record of victories at Sheepshead, Bennings, +and The Fort, did no more than shove his long nose under the wire a bare +half head in front of Black Eagle's foam-flecked muzzle. + +It was sufficient. The once wild stallion knew when he was beaten. He +had done his best and he had lost. His high pride had been humbled, his +fierce spirit broken. No more did the course hold for him any pleasure, +no more could he be thrilled by the cries of spectators or urged into +his old time stride by Lefty's whispered appeals. Never again did Black +Eagle win a race. + +His end, however, was not wholly inglorious. Much against his will the +cowboy who had so relentlessly followed Black Eagle half way across the +big territory of Arizona to lay him low with a rifle bullet, who had +spared his life at the last moment and who had ridden him to victory in +so many glorious races--this silent, square-jawed man had given him a +final caress and then, saying a husky good-by, had turned him over to +the owner of a great stud-farm and gone away with a thick roll of +bank-notes in his pocket and a guilty feeling in his breast. + +Thus it happens that to-day throughout the Southwest there are many +black-pointed fleet-footed horses in whose veins runs the blood of a +noble horse. Some of them you will find in well-guarded paddocks, while +some still roam the prairies in wild bands which are the menace of +stockmen and the vexation of cowboys. As for their sire, he is no more. + +This is the story of Black Eagle. Although some of the minor details +may be open to dispute, the main points you may hear recited by any +cattleman or horse-breeder west of Omaha. For Black Eagle really lived +and, as perhaps you will agree, lived not in vain. + + + + +BONFIRE + +BROKEN FOR THE HOUSE OF JERRY + + +I + +Down in Maine or up in Vermont, anywhere, in fact, save on a fancy +stud-farm, his color would have passed for sorrel. Being a high-bred +hackney, and the pick of the Sir Bardolph three-year-olds, he was put +down as a strawberry roan. Also he was the pride of Lochlynne. + +"'Osses, women, and the weather, sir, ain't to be depended on; but, +barrin' haccidents, that 'ere Bonfire'll fetch us a ribbon if any does, +sir." Hawkins, the stud-groom, made this prophecy, not in haste or out +of hand, but as one who has a reputation to maintain and who speaks by +the card. + +So the word was passed among the under-grooms and stable-boys that +Bonfire was the best of the Sir Bardolph get, and that he was going to +the Garden for the honor and profit of the farm. + +Well, Bonfire had come to the Garden. He had been there two days. It was +within a few hours of the time when the hackneys were to take the +ring--and look at him! His eyes were dull, his head was down, his +nostrils wept, his legs trembled. + +About his stall was gathered a little group of discouraged men and boys +who spoke in low tones and gazed gloomily through the murky atmosphere +at the blanket-swathed, hooded figure that seemed about to collapse on +the straw. + +"'E ain't got no more life in 'im than a sick cat," said one. "The +Bellair folks will beat us 'oller; every one o' their blooming hentries +is as fit as fiddles." + +"Ain't we worked on 'im for four mortal hours?" demanded another. "Wot +more can we do?" + +"Send for old 'Awkins an' tell 'im, that's all." + +A shudder seemed to shake the group in the stall. It was clear that Mr. +Hawkins would be displeased, and that his displeasure was something to +be dreaded. Bonfire, too, was seen to shudder, but it was not from fear +of Hawkins's wrath. Little did Bonfire care just then for grooms, head +or ordinary. He shuddered because of certain aches that dwelt within +him. + +In his stomach was a queer feeling which he did not at all understand. +In his head was a dizziness which made him wish that the stall would not +move about so. Streaks of pain shot along his backbone and slid down +his legs. Hot and cold flashes swept over his body. For Bonfire had a +bad case of car-sickness--a malady differing from sea-sickness largely +in name only--also a well-developed cold complicated by nervous +indigestion. + +Tuned to the key, he had left the home stables. Then they had led him +into that box on wheels and the trouble had begun. Men shouted, bells +clanged, whistles shrieked. Bonfire felt the box start with a jerk, and, +thumping, rumbling, jolting, swaying, move somewhere off into the night. + +In an agony of apprehension--neck stretched, eyes staring, ears pointed, +nostrils quivering, legs stiffened, Bonfire waited for the end. But of +end there seemed to be none. Shock after shock Bonfire withstood, and +still found himself waiting. What it all meant he could not guess. There +were the other horses that had been taken with him into the box, some +placidly munching hay, others looking curiously about. There were the +familiar grooms who talked soothingly in his ear and patted his neck in +vain. The terror of the thing, this being whirled noisily away in a box, +had struck deep into Bonfire's brain, and he could not get it out. So he +stood for many hours, neither eating nor sleeping, listening to the +noises, feeling the motion, and trembling as one with ague. + +Of course it was absurd for Bonfire to go to pieces in that fashion. You +can ship a Missouri Modoc around the world and he will finish almost as +sound as he started. But Bonfire had blood and breeding and a pedigree +which went back to Lady Alice of Burn Brae, Yorkshire. + +His coltdom had been a sort of hothouse existence; for Lochlynne, you +know, is the toy of a Pennsylvania coal baron, who breeds hackneys, not +for profit, but for the joy there is in it; just as other men grow +orchids and build cup defenders. At the Lochlynne stables they turn on +the steam heat in November. On rainy days you are exercised in a +glass-roofed tanbark ring, and hour after hour you are handled over +deep straw to improve your action. You breathe outdoor air only in +high-fenced grass paddocks around which you are driven in surcingle rig +by a Cockney groom imported with the pigskin saddles and British +condition powders. From the day your name is written in the stud-book +until you leave, you have balanced feed, all-wool blankets, +fly-nettings, and coddling that never ceases. Yet this is the method +that rounds you into perfect hackney form. + +All this had been done for Bonfire and with apparent success, but a few +hours of railroad travel had left him with a set of nerves as tensely +strung as those of a high-school girl on graduation-day. That is why a +draught of cold air had chilled him to the bone; that is why, after +reaching the Garden, he had gone as limp as a cut rose at a ball. + + +II + +Hawkins, who had jumped into his clothes and hurried to the scene from a +nearby hotel, behaved disappointingly. He cursed no one, he did not even +kick a stable boy. He just peeled to his undershirt and went to work. He +stripped blankets and hood from the wretched Bonfire, grabbed a bunch of +straw in either hand and began to rub. It was no chamois polishing. It +was a raking, scraping, rib-bending rub, applied with all the force in +Hawkins's sinewy arms. It sent the sluggish blood pounding through +every artery of Bonfire's congested system and it made the perspiration +ooze from the red face of Hawkins. + +At the end of forty minutes' work Bonfire half believed he had been +skinned alive. But he had stopped trembling and he held up his head. +Next he saw Hawkins shaking something in a thick, long-necked bottle. +Suddenly two grooms held Bonfire's jaws apart while Hawkins poured a +liquid down his throat. It was fiery stuff that seemed to burn its way, +and its immediate effect was to revive Bonfire's appetite. + +Hour after hour Hawkins worked and watched the son of Sir Bardolph, and +when the get-ready bell sounded he remarked: + +"Now, blarst you, we'll see if you're goin' to go to heverlastin' smash +in the ring. Tommy, dig out a pair o' them burrs." + +Not until he reached the tanbark did Bonfire understand what burrs +were. Then, as a rein was pulled, he felt a hundred sharp points +pricking the sensitive skin around his mouth. With a bound he leaped +into the ring. + +It was a very pretty sight presented to the horse experts lining the +rail and to persons in boxes and tier seats. They saw a blockily built +strawberry roan, his chiselled neck arched in a perfect crest, his rigid +thigh muscles rippling under a shiny coat as he swung his hocks, his +slim forelegs sweeping up and out, and every curve of his rounded body, +from the tip of his absurd whisk-broom tail to the white snip on the end +of his tossing nose, expressing that exuberance of spirits, that jaunty +abandon of motion which is the very apex of hackney style. Behind him a +short-legged groom bounced through the air at the end of the reins, +keeping his feet only by means of most amazing strides. + +It was a woman in one of the promenade boxes, a young woman wearing a +stunning gown and a preposterous picture-hat, who started the applause. +Her hand-clapping was echoed all around the rail, was taken up in the +boxes and finally woke a rattling chorus from the crowded tiers above. +The three judges, men with whips and long-tailed coats, looked earnestly +at the strawberry roan. + +Bonfire heard, too, but vaguely. There was a ringing in his ears. +Flashes of light half blinded his eyes. The concoction from the +long-necked bottle was doing its work. Also the jaw-stinging burrs kept +his mind busy. On he danced in a mad effort to escape the pain, and only +by careful manoeuvring could the grooms get him to stand still long +enough for the judges to use the tape. + +And when it was all over, after the judges had grouped and regrouped +the entries, compared figures and whispered in the ring centre; out of +sheer defiance to the preference of the spectators they gave the blue to +a chestnut filly with black points--at which the tier seats hissed +mightily--and tied a red ribbon to Bonfire's bridle. Thereupon the +strawberry roan, who had looked fit for a girthsling three hours before, +tossed his head and pranced daintily out of the arena amid a ringing +round of applause. + +Hardly had Bonfire's docked tail disappeared before the woman in the +stunning gown turned eagerly to a man beside her and asked, "Can't I +have him, Jerry? He'll be such a perfect cross-mate for Topsy. Please, +now." + +To be sure Jerry grumbled some, but inside of a quarter of an hour he +had found Hawkins and paid the price; a price worthy of Sir Bardolph and +quite in keeping with Lochlynne reckonings. + +"'E's been car sick an' show sick," said Hawkins warningly, "an' it'll +be a good two weeks afore 'e's in proper condition, sir; but you'll find +'im as neat a bit of 'oss flesh as you hever owned, sir." + +Nor was Hawkins wrong. When the burrs were taken off and the effect of +the doses from the long-necked bottle had died out, Bonfire looked +anything but a ribbon-getter. Luckily Mr. Jerry had a coachman who knew +his business. Dan was his name, County Antrim his birthplace. He fed +Bonfire hot mixtures, he rubbed, he nursed, until he had coaxed the cold +out and had quieted the jangled nerves. Then, one crisp December +morning, Bonfire, once more in the pink of condition, was hooked up with +Topsy to the pole of a shining, rubber-tired brougham and taken around +to make the acquaintance of Mrs. Jerry. + +"Oh, isn't he a beauty, Dan!" squealed Mrs. Jerry delightedly, as +Bonfire danced up to the curb. "Isn't he?" + +Dan, trained to silence, touched his hat. Mrs. Jerry patted Bonfire's +rounded quarter, tried to rub his impatient nose and squandered on him a +bewildering variety of superlatives. Then she was handed to her seat, +the footman swung up beside Dan, the reins were slackened and away they +whirled toward the Park, stepping as if they were going over hurdles. + + +III + +For three years Bonfire had been in leather and he had found the life +far different from the dull routine of coddling that he had known at the +Lochlynne Farm. There was little monotony about it, for the Jerrys were +no stay-at-homes. Of his oak-finished stable, with its sanded floors +and plaited straw stall-mats, Bonfire saw almost as little as did Mrs. +Jerry of her white and gold rooms on the Avenue. + +In the morning it would be a trip down town, where Topsy and Bonfire +would wait before the big stores, watching the traffic and people, until +Mrs. Jerry reappeared. After luncheon they generally took her through +the Park or up and down the Avenue to teas and receptions. In the +evening they were often harnessed again to take Mr. and Mrs. Jerry to +dinner, theatre, or ball. Late at night they might be turned out to +fetch them home. + +What long, cold waits they had, standing in line sometimes for hours, +stamping their hoofs and shivering under heavy blankets; for a stylish +hackney, you know, must be kept closely clipped, no matter what the +weather. Why, even Dan, muffled in his big coat and bear-skin +shoulder-cape, was half frozen. But Dan could leave the footman on the +box and go to warm himself in the glittering corner saloons, and when he +came back it would be the footman's turn. For Topsy and Bonfire there +was no such relief. Chilled, tired, and hungry, they must stamp and wait +until at last, far down the street, could be heard the shouting of the +strong-lunged carriage-caller. When Dan got his number they were quite +ready for the homeward dash. + +Seeing them come down the street, heads tossing, pole-chains jingling, +the crest and monogram of the house of Jerry glistening on quarter cloth +and rosette, their polished hoofs seeming barely to touch the asphalt, +you might have thought their lot one to be envied. But Bonfire and Topsy +knew better. + +It was altogether too heavy work for high-bred hackneys, of course. Mr. +Jerry pointed this out, but to no use. Mrs. Jerry asked pertinently +what good horses were for if not to be used. No, she wanted no livery +teams for the night work. When she rode she wished to ride behind Topsy +and Bonfire. They were her horses, anyway. She would do as she pleased. +And she did. + +Summer brought neither rest nor relief. Early in July horses, servants, +and carriages would be shipped off to Newport or Saratoga, there to +begin again the unceasing whirl. And fly time, to a docktailed horse, is +a season of torment. + +Of Mrs. Jerry, who had once roused the Garden for his sake, Bonfire +caught but glimpses. After that first day, when he was a novelty, he +heard no more compliments, received no more pats from her gloved hands. +But of slight or neglect Bonfire knew nothing. He curved his neck and +threw his hoofs high, whether his muscles ached or no; in winter he +stamped to keep warm, in summer to dislodge the flies; he did his work +faithfully, early or late, in cold and in heat; and all this because he +was a son of Sir Bardolph and for the reason that it was his nature to. +Had it been put upon him he would have worked in harness until he +dropped, prancing his best to the last. + +No supreme test, however, was ever brought to the endurance and +willingness of Bonfire. They just kept him on the pole, nerves tense, +muscles strained, until he began to lose form. His action no longer had +that grace and abandon which so pleased Mrs. Jerry when she first saw +him. Long standing in the cold numbs the muscles. It robs the legs of +their spring. Sudden starts, such as are made when you are called from +line after an hour's waiting, finish the business. Try as he might, +Bonfire could not step so high, could not carry a perfect crest. His +neck had lost its roundness, in his rump a crease had appeared. + +To Dan also, came tribulation of his own making. He carried a flat brown +flask under the box and there were times when his driving was more a +matter of muscular habit than of mental acuteness. Twice he was +threatened with discharge and twice he solemnly promised reform. At last +the inevitable happened. Dan came one morning to Bonfire's stall, very +sober and very sad. He patted Bonfire and said good-by. Then he +disappeared. + +Less than a week later two young hackneys, plump of neck, round of +quarter, springy of knee and hock, were brought to the stable. Bonfire +and Topsy were led out of their old stalls to return no more. They had +been worn out in the service and cast aside like a pair of old gloves. + +Then did Bonfire enter upon a period of existence in which box-stalls, +crested quarter blankets, rubber-tired wheels and liveried drivers had +no part. It was a varied existence, filled with toil and hardship and +abuse; an existence for which the coddling one gets at Lochlynne Farm is +no fit preparation. + + +IV + +Just where Broadway crosses Sixth Avenue at Thirty-third Street is to be +found a dingy, triangular little park plot in which a few gas-stunted, +smoke-stained trees make a brave attempt to keep alive. On two sides of +the triangle surface-cars whirl restlessly, while overhead the elevated +trains rattle and shriek. This part of the metropolis knows little +difference between day and night, for the cars never cease, the +arc-lights blaze from dusk until dawn and the pavements are never wholly +empty. + +Locally the section is sometimes called "the Cabman's Graveyard." During +any hour of the twenty-four you may find waiting along the curb a line +of public carriages. By day you will sometimes see smartly kept hansoms, +well-groomed horses, and drivers in neat livery. + +But at night the character of the line changes. The carriages are mostly +one-horse closed cabs, rickety as to wheels, with torn and faded +cushions, license numbers obscured by various devices and rate-cards +always missing. The horses are dilapidated, too; and the drivers, whom +you will generally find nodding on the box or sound asleep inside their +cabs, harmonize with their rigs. + +These are the Nighthawkers of the Tenderloin. The name is not an +assuring one, but it is suspected that it has been aptly given. + +One bleak midnight in late November a cab of this description waited in +the lee of the elevated stairs. The cab itself was weather-beaten, +scratched, and battered. The driver, who sat half inside and half +outside the vehicle, with his feet on the sidewalk and his back propped +against the seat-cushion, puffed a short pipe and watched with indolent +but discriminating eye those who passed. He wore a coachman's coat of +faded green which seemed to have acquired a stain for every button it +had lost. On his head sat jauntily a rusty beaver and his face, +especially the nose, was of a rich crimson hue. + +The horse, that seemed to lean on rather than stand in the patched +shafts, showed many well-defined points and but few curves. His thin +neck was ewed, there were deep hollows over the eyes, the number of his +ribs was revealed with startling frankness and the sagging of one +hind-quarter betrayed a bad leg. His head he held in spiritless fashion +on a level with his knees. As if to add a note of irony, his tail had +been docked to the regulation of absurd brevity and served only to tag +him as one fallen from a more reputable state. + +Suddenly, up and across the intersecting thoroughfares, with a sharp +clatter of hoofs, rolled a smart closed brougham. The dispirited bobtail +looked up as a well-mated pair pranced past. Perhaps he noted their +sleek quarters, the glittering trappings on their backs and their +gingery action. As he dropped his head again something very like a sigh +escaped him. It might have been regret, perhaps it was only a touch of +influenza. + +The driver, too, saw the turnout and gazed after it. But he did not +sigh. He puffed away at his pipe as if entirely satisfied with his lot. +He was still watching the brougham when a surface-car came gliding +swiftly around a curve. There was a smash of splintering wood and +breaking glass. The car had struck the brougham a battering-ram blow, +crushing a rear wheel and snapping the steel axle at the hub. + +From somewhere or other a crowd of curious persons appeared and circled +about to watch while the driver held the plunging horses and the footman +hauled from the overturned carriage a man and a woman in evening dress. +The couple seemed unhurt and, although somewhat rumpled as to attire, +remarkably unconcerned. + +"Keb, sir! Have a keb, sir?" + +The Nighthawker was on the scene, like a longshore wrecker, and waving +an inviting arm toward his shabby vehicle. + +The man coolly restored to shape his misused opera hat, adjusted his +necktie, whispered some orders to his coachman and then asked of the +Nighthawker: "Where's your carriage, my man?" + +Eagerly the green-coated cabby led the way until the rescued couple +stood before it. The woman inspected the battered vehicle doubtfully +before stepping inside. The man eyed the sorry nag for a moment and then +said, with a laugh: "Good frame you have there; got the parts all +numbered?" + +But the Nighthawker was not sensitive. The intimation that his horse +might fall apart he answered only with a good-natured chuckle and asked: +"Where shall it be; home, sir?" + +"Why, yes, drive us to number----" + +"Oh, we know the house well enough, sir, Bonfire and me." + +"Bonfire! Bonfire, did you say?" Incredulously the fare looked first at +the horse and then at the driver. "Why, 'pon my word, it's old Dan! And +this relic in the shafts is Bonfire, is it?" + +"It's him, sir; leastways, all there's left of him." + +"Well, I'll be hanged! Kitty! Kitty!" he shouted into the cab where my +lady was nervously pulling her skirts closer about her and sniffing the +tobacco-laden atmosphere with evident disapproval. "Here's Dan, our old +coachman." + +"Really?" was the unenthusiastic reply from the cab. + +"Yes, and he's driving Bonfire. You remember Bonfire, the hackney I +bought for you at the Garden the year we were married." + +"Indeed? Why, how odd? But do come in, Jerry, and let's get on home. I'm +so-o-o-o tired." + +Mr. Jerry stifled his sentiment and shut the cab-door with a bang. Dan +pulled Bonfire's head into position and lightly laid the whip over the +all too obvious ribs. Bonfire, his head bobbing ludicrously on his thin +neck and his stubby tail keeping time at the other end of him, moved +uncertainly up the avenue at a jerky hobble. + +And there let us leave him. Poor old Bonfire! Bred to win a ribbon at +the Garden--ended as the drudge of a Tenderloin Nighthawker. + + + + +PASHA + +THE SON OF SELIM + + +Long, far too long, has the story of Pasha, son of Selim, remained +untold. + +The great Selim, you know, was brought from far across the seas, where +he had been sold for a heavy purse by a venerable sheik, who tore his +beard during the bargain and swore by Allah that without Selim there +would be for him no joy in life. Also he had wept quite convincingly on +Selim's neck--but he finished by taking the heavy purse. That was how +Selim, the great Selim, came to end his days in Fayette County, +Kentucky. Of his many sons, Pasha was one. + +In almost idyllic manner were spent the years of Pasha's coltdom. They +were years of pasture roaming and bluegrass cropping. When the time was +ripe, began the hunting lessons. Pasha came to know the feel of the +saddle and the voice of the hounds. He was taught the long, easy lope. +He learned how to gather himself for a sail through the air over a +hurdle or a water-jump. Then, when he could take five bars clean, when +he could clear an eight-foot ditch, when his wind was so sound that he +could lead the chase from dawn until high noon, he was sent to the +stables of a Virginia tobacco-planter who had need of a new hunter and +who could afford Arab blood. + +In the stalls at Gray Oaks stables were many good hunters, but none +better than Pasha. Cream-white he was, from the tip of his splendid, +yard-long tail to his pink-lipped muzzle. His coat was as silk plush, +his neck as supple as a swan's, and out of his big, bright eyes there +looked such intelligence that one half expected him to speak. His lines +were all long, graceful curves, and when he danced daintily on his +slender legs one could see the muscles flex under the delicate skin. + +Miss Lou claimed Pasha for her very own at first sight. As no one at +Gray Oaks denied Miss Lou anything at all, to her he belonged from that +instant. Of Miss Lou, Pasha approved thoroughly. She knew that +bridle-reins were for gentle guidance, not for sawing or jerking, and +that a riding-crop was of no use whatever save to unlatch a gate or to +cut at an unruly hound. She knew how to rise on the stirrup when Pasha +lifted himself in his stride, and how to settle close to the pigskin +when his hoofs hit the ground. In other words, she had a good seat, +which means as much to the horse as it does to the rider. + +Besides all this, it was Miss Lou who insisted that Pasha should have +the best of grooming, and she never forgot to bring the dainties which +Pasha loved, an apple or a carrot or a sugar-plum. It is something, too, +to have your nose patted by a soft gloved hand and to have such a person +as Miss Lou put her arm around your neck and whisper in your ear. From +no other than Miss Lou would Pasha permit such intimacy. + +No paragon, however, was Pasha. He had a temper, and his whims were as +many as those of a school-girl. He was particular as to who put on his +bridle. He had notions concerning the manner in which a curry-comb should +be used. A red ribbon or a bandanna handkerchief put him in a rage, +while green, the holy color of the Mohammedan, soothed his nerves. A +lively pair of heels he had, and he knew how to use his teeth. The black +stable-boys found that out, and so did the stern-faced man who was known +as "Mars" Clayton. This "Mars" Clayton had ridden Pasha once, had ridden +him as he rode his big, ugly, hard-bitted roan hunter, and Pasha had not +enjoyed the ride. Still, Miss Lou and Pasha often rode out with "Mars" +Clayton and the parrot-nosed roan. That is, they did until the coming of +Mr. Dave. + +In Mr. Dave, Pasha found a new friend. From a far Northern State was Mr. +Dave. He had come in a ship to buy tobacco, but after he had bought his +cargo he still stayed at Gray Oaks, "to complete Pasha's education," so +he said. + +Many ways had Mr. Dave which Pasha liked. He had a gentle manner of +talking to you, of smoothing your flanks and rubbing your ears, which +gained your confidence and made you sure that he understood. He was firm +and sure in giving commands, yet so patient in teaching one tricks, that +it was a pleasure to learn. + +So, almost before Pasha knew it, he could stand on his hind legs, could +step around in a circle in time to a tune which Mr. Dave whistled, and +could do other things which few horses ever learn to do. His chief +accomplishment, however, was to kneel on his forelegs in the attitude of +prayer. A long time it took Pasha to learn this, but Mr. Dave told him +over and over again, by word and sign, until at last the son of the +great Selim could strike a pose such as would have done credit to a +Mecca pilgrim. + +"It's simply wonderful!" declared Miss Lou. + +But it was nothing of the sort. Mr. Dave had been teaching tricks to +horses ever since he was a small boy, and never had he found such an apt +pupil as Pasha. + +Many a glorious gallop did Pasha and Miss Lou have while Mr. Dave stayed +at Gray Oaks, Dave riding the big bay gelding that Miss Lou, with all +her daring, had never ventured to mount. It was not all galloping +though, for Pasha and the big bay often walked for miles through the +wood lanes, side by side and very close together, while Miss Lou and Mr. +Dave talked, talked, talked. How they could ever find so much to say to +each other Pasha wondered. + +But at last Mr. Dave went away, and with his going ended good times for +Pasha, at least for many months. There followed strange doings. There +was much excitement among the stable-boys, much riding about, day and +night, by the men of Gray Oaks, and no hunting at all. One day the +stables were cleared of all horses save Pasha. + +"Some time, if he is needed badly, you may have Pasha, but not now," +Miss Lou had said. And then she had hidden her face in his cream-white +mane and sobbed. Just what the trouble was Pasha did not understand, but +he was certain "Mars" Clayton was at the bottom of it. + +No longer did Miss Lou ride about the country. Occasionally she galloped +up and down the highway, to the Pointdexters and back, just to let Pasha +stretch his legs. Queer sights Pasha saw on these trips. Sometimes he +would pass many men on horses riding close together in a pack, as the +hounds run when they have the scent. They wore strange clothing, did +these men, and they carried, instead of riding-crops, big shiny knives +that swung at their sides. The sight of them set Pasha's nerves +tingling. He would sniff curiously after them and then prick forward +his ears and dance nervously. + +Of course Pasha knew that something unusual was going on, but what it +was he could not guess. There came a time, however, when he found out +all about it. Months had passed when, late one night, a hard-breathing, +foam-splotched, mud-covered horse was ridden into the yard and taken +into the almost deserted stable. Pasha heard the harsh voice of "Mars" +Clayton swearing at the stable-boys. Pasha heard his own name spoken, +and guessed that it was he who was wanted. Next came Miss Lou to the +stable. + +"I'm very sorry," he heard "Mars" Clayton say, "but I've got to get out +of this. The Yanks are not more than five miles behind." + +"But you'll take good care of him, won't you?" he heard Miss Lou ask +eagerly. + +"Oh, yes; of course," replied "Mars" Clayton, carelessly. + +A heavy saddle was thrown on Pasha's back, the girths pulled cruelly +tight, and in a moment "Mars" Clayton was on his back. They were barely +clear of Gray Oaks driveway before Pasha felt something he had never +known before. It was as if someone had jabbed a lot of little knives +into his ribs. Roused by pain and fright, Pasha reared in a wild attempt +to unseat this hateful rider. But "Mars" Clayton's knees seemed glued to +Pasha's shoulders. Next Pasha tried to shake him off by sudden leaps, +side-bolts, and stiff-legged jumps. These manoeuvres brought vicious +jerks on the wicked chain-bit that was cutting Pasha's tender mouth +sorrily and more jabs from the little knives. In this way did Pasha +fight until his sides ran with blood and his breast was plastered thick +with reddened foam. + +In the meantime he had covered miles of road, and at last, along in the +cold gray of the morning, he was ridden into a field where were many +tents and horses. Pasha was unsaddled and picketed to a stake. This +latter indignity he was too much exhausted to resent. All he could do +was to stand, shivering with cold, trembling from nervous excitement, +and wait for what was to happen next. + +It seemed ages before anything did happen. The beginning was a tripping +bugle-blast. This was answered by the voice of other bugles blown here +and there about the field. In a moment men began to tumble out of the +white tents. They came by twos and threes and dozens, until the field +was full of them. Fires were built on the ground, and soon Pasha could +scent coffee boiling and bacon frying. Black boys began moving about +among the horses with hay and oats and water. One of them rubbed Pasha +hurriedly with a wisp of straw. It was little like the currying and +rubbing with brush and comb and flannel to which he was accustomed and +which he needed just then, oh, how sadly. His strained muscles had +stiffened so much that every movement gave him pain. So matted was his +coat with sweat and foam and mud that it seemed as if half the pores of +his skin were choked. + +He had cooled his parched throat with a long draught of somewhat muddy +water, but he had eaten only half of the armful of hay when again the +bugles sounded and "Mars" Clayton appeared. Tightening the girths, until +they almost cut into Pasha's tender skin, he jumped into the saddle and +rode off to where a lot of big black horses were being reined into line. +In front of this line Pasha was wheeled. He heard the bugles sound once +more, heard his rider shout something to the men behind, felt the +wicked little knives in his sides, and then, in spite of aching legs, +was forced into a sharp gallop. Although he knew it not, Pasha had +joined the Black Horse Cavalry. + +The months that followed were to Pasha one long, ugly dream. Not that he +minded the hard riding by day and night. In time he became used to all +that. He could even endure the irregular feeding, the sleeping in the +open during all kinds of weather, and the lack of proper grooming. But +the vicious jerks on the torture-provoking cavalry bit, the flat sabre +blows on the flank which he not infrequently got from his ill-tempered +master, and, above all, the cruel digs of the spur-wheels--these things +he could not understand. Such treatment he was sure he did not merit. +"Mars" Clayton he came to hate more and more. Some day, Pasha told +himself, he would take vengeance with teeth and heels, even if he died +for it. + +In the meantime he had learned the cavalry drill. He came to know the +meaning of each varying bugle-call, from reveille, when one began to paw +and stamp for breakfast, to mournful taps, when lights went out, and the +tents became dark and silent. Also, one learned to slow from a gallop +into a walk; when to wheel to the right or to the left, and when to +start on the jump as the first notes of a charge were sounded. It was +better to learn the bugle-calls, he found, than to wait for a jerk on +the bits or a prod from the spurs. + +No more was he terror-stricken, as he had been on his first day in the +cavalry, at hearing behind him the thunder of many hoofs. Having once +become used to the noise, he was even thrilled by the swinging metre of +it. A kind of wild harmony was in it, something which made one forget +everything else. At such times Pasha longed to break into his long, +wind-splitting lope, but he learned that he must leave the others no +more than a pace or two behind, although he could have easily +outdistanced them all. + +Also, Pasha learned to stand under fire. No more did he dance at the +crack of carbines or the zipp-zipp of bullets. He could even hold his +ground when shells went screaming over him, although this was hardest of +all to bear. One could not see them, but their sound, like that of great +birds in flight, was something to try one's nerves. Pasha strained his +ears to catch the note of each shell that came whizzing overhead, and, +as it passed, looked inquiringly over his shoulder as if to ask, "Now +what on earth was that?" + +But all this experience could not prepare him for the happenings of +that never-to-be-forgotten day in June. There had been a period full of +hard riding and ending with a long halt. For several days hay and oats +were brought with some regularity. Pasha was even provided with an +apology for a stall. It was made by leaning two rails against a fence. +Some hay was thrown between the rails. This was a sorry substitute for +the roomy box-stall, filled with clean straw, which Pasha always had at +Gray Oaks, but it was as good as any provided for the Black Horse +Cavalry. + +And how many, many horses there were! As far as Pasha could see in +either direction the line extended. Never before had he seen so many +horses at one time. And men! The fields and woods were full of them; +some in brown butternut, some in homespun gray, and many in clothes +having no uniformity of color at all. "Mars" Clayton was dressed better +than most, for on his butternut coat were shiny shoulder-straps, and it +was closed with shiny buttons. Pasha took little pride in this. He knew +his master for a cruel and heartless rider, and for nothing more. + +One day there was a great parade, when Pasha was carefully groomed for +the first time in months. There were bands playing and flags flying. +Pasha, forgetful of his ill-treatment and prancing proudly at the head +of a squadron of coal-black horses, passed in review before a big, +bearded man wearing a slouch hat fantastically decorated with long +plumes and sitting a great black horse in the midst of a little knot of +officers. + +Early the next morning Pasha was awakened by the distant growl of heavy +guns. By daylight he was on the move, thousands of other horses with +him. Nearer and nearer they rode to the place where the guns were +growling. Sometimes they were on roads, sometimes they crossed fields, +and again they plunged into the woods where the low branches struck +one's eyes and scratched one's flanks. At last they broke clear of the +trees to come suddenly upon such a scene as Pasha had never before +witnessed. + +Far across the open field he could see troop on troop of horses coming +toward him. They seemed to be pouring over the crest of a low hill, as +if driven onward by some unseen force behind. Instantly Pasha heard, +rising from the throats of thousands of riders, on either side and +behind him, that fierce, wild yell which he had come to know meant the +approach of trouble. High and shrill and menacing it rang as it was +taken up and repeated by those in the rear. Next the bugles began to +sound, and in quick obedience the horses formed in line just on the +edge of the woods, a line which stretched and stretched on either flank +until one could hardly see where it ended. + +From the distant line came no answering cry, but Pasha could hear the +bugles blowing and he could see the fronts massing. Then came the order +to charge at a gallop. This set Pasha to tugging eagerly at the bit, but +for what reason he did not know. He knew only that he was part of a +great and solid line of men and horses sweeping furiously across a field +toward that other line which he had seen pouring over the hill-crest. + +He could scarcely see at all now. The thousands of hoofs had raised a +cloud of dust that not only enveloped the onrushing line, but rolled +before it. Nor could Pasha hear anything save the thunderous thud of +many feet. Even the shrieking of the shells was drowned. But for the +restraining bit Pasha would have leaped forward and cleared the line. +Never had he been so stirred. The inherited memory of countless desert +raids, made by his Arab ancestors, was doing its work. For what seemed a +long time this continued, and then, in the midst of the blind and +frenzied race, there loomed out of the thick air, as if it had appeared +by magic, the opposing line. + +Pasha caught a glimpse of something which seemed like a heaving wall of +tossing heads and of foam-whitened necks and shoulders. Here and there +gleamed red, distended nostrils and straining eyes. Bending above was +another wall, a wall of dusty blue coats, of grim faces, and of +dust-powdered hats. Bristling above all was a threatening crest of +waving blades. + +What would happen when the lines met? Almost before the query was +thought there came the answer. With an earth-jarring crash they came +together. The lines wavered back from the shock of impact and then the +whole struggle appeared to Pasha to centre about him. Of course this was +not so. But it was a fact that the most conspicuous figure in either +line had been that of the cream-white charger in the very centre of the +Black Horse regiment. + +For one confused moment Pasha heard about his ears the whistle and clash +of sabres, the spiteful crackle of small arms, the snorting of horses, +and the cries of men. For an instant he was wedged tightly in the +frenzied mass, and then, by one desperate leap, such as he had learned +on the hunting field, he shook himself clear. + +Not until some minutes later did Pasha notice that the stirrups were +dangling empty and that the bridle-rein hung loose on his neck. Then he +knew that at last he was free from "Mars" Clayton. At the same time he +felt himself seized by an overpowering dread. While conscious of a +guiding hand on the reins Pasha had abandoned himself to the fierce joy +of the charge. But now, finding himself riderless in the midst of a +horrid din, he knew not what to do, nor which way to turn. His only +impulse was to escape. But where? Lifting high his fine head and +snorting with terror he rushed about, first this way and then that, +frantically seeking a way out of this fog-filled field of dreadful +pandemonium. Now he swerved in his course to avoid a charging squad, now +he was turned aside by prone objects at sight of which he snorted +fearfully. Although the blades still rang and the carbines still spoke, +there were no more to be seen either lines or order. Here and there in +the dust-clouds scurried horses, some with riders and some without, by +twos, by fours, or in squads of twenty or more. The sound of shooting +and slashing and shouting filled the air. + +To Pasha it seemed an eternity that he had been tearing about the field +when he shied at the figure of a man sitting on the ground. Pasha was +about to wheel and dash away when the man called to him. Surely the +tones were familiar. With wide-open, sniffing nostrils and trembling +knees, Pasha stopped and looked hard at the man on the ground. + +"Pasha! Pasha!" the man called weakly. The voice sounded like that of +Mr. Dave. + +"Come, boy! Come, boy!" said the man in a coaxing tone, which recalled +to Pasha the lessons he had learned at Gray Oaks years before. Still +Pasha sniffed and hesitated. + +"Come here, Pasha, old fellow. For God's sake, come here!" + +There was no resisting this appeal. Step by step Pasha went nearer. He +continued to tremble, for this man on the ground, although his voice was +that of Mr. Dave, looked much different from the one who had taught him +tricks. Besides, there was about him the scent of fresh blood. Pasha +could see the stain of it on his blue trousers. + +"Come, boy. Come, Pasha," insisted the man on the ground, holding out an +encouraging hand. Slowly Pasha obeyed until he could sniff the man's +fingers. Another step and the man was smoothing his nose, still speaking +gently and coaxingly in a faint voice. In the end Pasha was assured that +the man was really the Mr. Dave of old, and glad enough Pasha was to +know it. + +"Now, Pasha," said Mr. Dave, "we'll see if you've forgotten your tricks, +and may the good Lord grant you haven't. Down, sir! Kneel, Pasha, +kneel!" + +[Illustration: "Come, boy. Come, Pasha," insisted the man on the +ground.] + +It had been a long time since Pasha had been asked to do this, a very +long time; but here was Mr. Dave asking him, in just the same tone as of +old, and in just the same way. So Pasha, forgetting his terror under the +soothing spell of Mr. Dave's voice, forgetting the fearful sights and +sounds about him, remembering only that here was the Mr. Dave whom he +loved, asking him to do his old trick--well, Pasha knelt. + +"Easy now, boy; steady!" Pasha heard him say. Mr. Dave was dragging +himself along the ground to Pasha's side. "Steady now, Pasha; steady, +boy!" He felt Mr. Dave's hand on the pommel. "So-o-o, boy; so-o-o-o!" +Slowly, oh, so slowly, he felt Mr. Dave crawling into the saddle, and +although Pasha's knees ached from the unfamiliar strain, he stirred not +a muscle until he got the command, "Up, Pasha, up!" + +Then, with a trusted hand on the bridle-rein, Pasha joyfully bounded +away through the fog, until the battle-field was left behind. Of the +long ride that ensued only Pasha knows, for Mr. Dave kept his seat in +the saddle more by force of muscular habit than anything else. A man who +has learned to sleep on horseback does not easily fall off, even though +he has not the full command of his senses. Only for the first hour or so +did Pasha's rider do much toward guiding their course. In +hunting-horses, however, the sense of direction is strong. Pasha had +it--especially for one point of the compass. This point was south. So, +unknowing of the possible peril into which he might be taking his rider, +south he went. How Pasha ever did it, as I have said, only Pasha knows; +but in the end he struck the Richmond Pike. + +[Illustration: Mr. Dave kept his seat in the saddle more by force of +muscular habit than anything else.] + +It was a pleading whinny which aroused Miss Lou at early daybreak. +Under her window she saw Pasha, and on his back a limp figure in a blue, +dust-covered, dark-stained uniform. And that was how Pasha's cavalry +career came to an end. That one fierce charge was his last. + + * * * * * + +In the Washington home of a certain Maine Congressman you may see, hung +in a place of honor and lavishly framed, the picture of a horse. It is +very creditably done in oils, is this picture. It is of a cream-white +horse, with an arched neck, clean, slim legs, and a splendid flowing +tail. + +Should you have any favors of state to ask of this Maine Congressman, it +would be the wise thing, before stating your request, to say something +nice about the horse in the picture. Then the Congressman will probably +say, looking fondly at the picture: "I must tell Lou--er--my wife, you +know, what you have said. Yes, that was Pasha. He saved my neck at +Brandy Station. He was one-half Arab, Pasha was, and the other half, +sir, was human." + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Horses Nine, by Sewell Ford + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HORSES NINE *** + +***** This file should be named 19824-8.txt or 19824-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/8/2/19824/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Horses Nine + Stories of Harness and Saddle + +Author: Sewell Ford + +Release Date: November 16, 2006 [EBook #19824] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HORSES NINE *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 420px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="illus-001" id="illus-001"></a> +<img src='images/fpiece.jpg' alt='By one desperate leap he shook himself clear. (Page 263.)' title='' width = '420' height = '564'/><br /> +<span class='caption'>By one desperate leap he shook himself clear. (Page 263.)</span> +</div> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<table width='450' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='' border='1'><tr><td> +<p class='titleblock' style=' font-size: 250%; margin-top: 60px; margin-bottom: 80px;'> HORSES NINE</p> +<p class='titleblock' style=' font-size: 140%;'> STORIES OF HARNESS</p> +<p class='titleblock' style=' font-size: 140%; margin-bottom: 80px;'> AND SADDLE</p> +<p class='titleblock' style=' font-size: 100%;'> BY</p> +<p class='titleblock' style=' font-size: 120%; margin-bottom: 80px;'> SEWELL FORD</p> +<p class='titleblock' style=' font-size: 140%; margin-bottom: 80px;'> ILLUSTRATED</p> +<p class='titleblock' style=' font-size: 100%;'> NEW YORK</p> +<p class='titleblock' style=' font-size: 100%;'> CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS</p> +<p class='titleblock' style=' font-size: 100%; margin-bottom: 60px;'> 1905</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<table width='450' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='' ><tr><td> +<p class='titleblock' style=' margin-top: 50px;'> Copyright, 1903, by</p> +<p class='titleblock' style=' margin-bottom: 60px;'> CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS</p> +<p class='titleblock' style=' margin-bottom: 100px;'> Published, March, 1903</p> +<p class='titleblock' style=' font-size: 75%;'> TROW DIRECTORY</p> +<p class='titleblock' style=' font-size: 75%;'> PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY</p> +<p class='titleblock' style=' font-size: 75%;'> NEW YORK</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<h2><a name="Contents" id="Contents"></a>Contents</h2> +<table border="0" width="500" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<col style="width:30%;" /> +<col style="width:60%;" /> +<col style="width:10%;" /> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">SKIPPER</td> + <td></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#SKIPPER">1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td></td> + <td align="left">Being the Biography of a Blue-Ribboner</td> + <td></td> +</tr> +<tr><td colspan="3"> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">CALICO</td> + <td></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CALICO">31</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td></td> + <td align="left">Who Travelled with a Round Top</td> + <td></td> +</tr> +<tr><td colspan="3"> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">OLD SILVER</td> + <td></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#OLD_SILVER">67</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td></td> + <td align="left">A Story of the Gray Horse Truck</td> + <td></td> +</tr> +<tr><td colspan="3"> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">BLUE BLAZES</td> + <td></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#BLUE_BLAZES">95</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td></td> + <td align="left">And the Marring of Him</td> + <td></td> +</tr> +<tr><td colspan="3"> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">CHIEFTAIN</td> + <td></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHIEFTAIN">125</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td></td> + <td align="left">A Story of the Heavy Draught Service</td> + <td></td> +</tr> +<tr><td colspan="3"> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">BARNACLES</td> + <td></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#BARNACLES">155</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td></td> + <td align="left">Who Mutinied for Good Cause</td> + <td></td> +</tr> +<tr><td colspan="3"> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">BLACK EAGLE</td> + <td></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#BLACK_EAGLE">181</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td></td> + <td align="left">Who Once Ruled the Ranges</td> + <td></td> +</tr> +<tr><td colspan="3"> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">BONFIRE</td> + <td></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#BONFIRE">213</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td></td> + <td align="left">Broken for the House of Jerry</td> + <td></td> +</tr> +<tr><td colspan="3"> </td></tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">PASHA</td> + <td></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#PASHA">241</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td></td> + <td align="left">The Son of Selim</td> + <td></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 420px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<img src='images/p005.jpg' alt='' title='' width = '533' height = '230'/><br /> +</div> + +<h2><a name="Illustrations" id="Illustrations"></a>Illustrations</h2> + +<p class='center'><i>By Frederic Dorr Steele and L. Maynard Dixon</i></p> + +<table border="0" width="600" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Illustrations"> +<col style="width:90%;" /> +<col style="width:10%;" /> +<tr><td align="left">By one desperate leap he shook himself clear. (Page 263.)</td><td align="right"><a href="#illus-001">Frontispiece</a></td></tr> +<tr><td></td><td align="right"><span style='font-size:80%;font-variant:small-caps;'>Facing Page</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">There were many heavy wagons.</td><td align="right"><a href="#illus-002">6</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">For many weary months Skipper pulled that crazy cart.</td><td align="right"><a href="#illus-003">24</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">He would do his best to steady them down to the work.</td><td align="right"><a href="#illus-004">130</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Then let him snake a truck down West Street.</td><td align="right"><a href="#illus-005">144</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"Come, boy. Come, Pasha," insisted the man on the ground.</td><td align="right"><a href="#illus-006">266</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Mr. Dave kept his seat in the saddle more by force of muscular habit than anything else.</td><td align="right"><a href="#illus-007">268</a></td></tr> +</table> + +<hr class="full" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="SKIPPER" id="SKIPPER"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">1</a></span> +<h2>SKIPPER</h2><h3>BEING THE BIOGRAPHY OF A BLUE-RIBBONER</h3> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">3</a></span>At +the age of six Skipper went on the force. Clean of limb and sound of +wind he was, with not a blemish from the tip of his black tail to the +end of his crinkly forelock. He had been broken to saddle by a Green +Mountain boy who knew more of horse nature than of the trashy things +writ in books. He gave Skipper kind words and an occasional friendly pat +on the flank. So Skipper's disposition was sweet and his nature a +trusting one.</p> + +<p>This is why Skipper learned so soon the ways of the city. The first time +he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">4</a></span> saw one of those little wheeled houses, all windows and full of +people, come rushing down the street with a fearful whirr and clank of +bell, he wanted to bolt. But the man on his back spoke in an easy, calm +voice, saying, "So-o-o! There, me b'y. Aisy wid ye. So-o-o!" which was +excellent advice, for the queer contrivance whizzed by and did him no +harm. In a week he could watch one without even pricking up his ears.</p> + +<p>It was strange work Skipper had been brought to the city to do. As a +colt he had seen horses dragging ploughs, pulling big loads of hay, and +hitched to many kinds of vehicles. He himself had drawn a light buggy +and thought it good fun, though you did have to keep your heels down and +trot instead of canter. He had liked best to lope off with the boy on +his back, down to the Corners, where the store was.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">5</a></span></p> + +<p>But here there were no ploughs, nor hay-carts, nor mowing-machines. +There were many heavy wagons, it was true, but these were all drawn by +stocky Percherons and big Western grays or stout Canada blacks who +seemed fully equal to the task.</p> + +<p>Also there were carriages—my, what shiny carriages! And what smart, +sleek-looking horses drew them! And how high they did hold their heads +and how they did throw their feet about—just as if they were dancing on +eggs.</p> + +<p>"Proud, stuck-up things," thought Skipper.</p> + +<p>It was clear that none of this work was for him. Early on the first +morning of his service men in brass-buttoned blue coats came to the +stable to feed and rub down the horses. Skipper's man had two names. One +was Officer Martin; at least that was the one to which he answered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">6</a></span> when +the man with the cap called the roll before they rode out for duty. The +other name was "Reddy." That was what the rest of the men in blue coats +called him. Skipper noticed that he had red hair and concluded that +"Reddy" must be his real name.</p> + +<p>As for Skipper's name, it was written on the tag tied to the halter +which he wore when he came to the city. Skipper heard him read it. The +boy on the farm had done that, and Skipper was glad, for he liked the +name.</p> + +<p>There was much to learn in those first few weeks, and Skipper learned it +quickly. He came to know that at inspection, which began the day, you +must stand with your nose just on a line with that of the horse on +either side. If you didn't you felt the bit or the spurs. He mastered +the meaning of "right dress," "left dress," "forward," "fours right," +and a lot of other things. Some of them were very strange.</p> + + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 566px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="illus-002" id="illus-002"></a> +<img src='images/p006.jpg' alt='There were many heavy wagons.' title='' width = '566' height = '424'/><br /> +<span class='caption'>There were many heavy wagons.</span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">7</a></span>Now on the farm they had said, "Whoa, boy," and "Gid a-a-ap." Here they +said, "Halt" and "Forward!" But "Reddy" used none of these terms. He +pressed with his knees on your withers, loosened the reins, and made a +queer little chirrup when he wanted you to gallop. He let you know when +he wanted you to stop, by the lightest pressure on the bit.</p> + +<p>It was a lazy work, though. Sometimes when Skipper was just aching for a +brisk canter he had to pace soberly through the park driveways—for +Skipper, although I don't believe I mentioned it before, was part and +parcel of the mounted police force. But there, you could know that by +the yellow letters on his saddle blanket.</p> + +<p>For half an hour at a time he would stand, just on the edge of the +roadway<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">8</a></span> and at an exact right angle with it, motionless as the horse +ridden by the bronze soldier up near the Mall. "Reddy" would sit as +still in the saddle, too. It was hard for Skipper to stand there and see +those mincing cobs go by, their pad-housings all a-glitter, crests on +their blinders, jingling their pole-chains and switching their absurd +little stubs of tails. But it was still more tantalizing to watch the +saddle-horses canter past in the soft bridle path on the other side of +the roadway. But then, when you are on the force you must do your duty.</p> + +<p>One afternoon as Skipper was standing post like this he caught a new +note that rose above the hum of the park traffic. It was the quick, +nervous beat of hoofs which rang sharply on the hard macadam. There were +screams, too. It was a runaway. Skipper knew this even before he saw the +bell-like nostrils, the straining<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">9</a></span> eyes, and the foam-flecked lips of +the horse, or the scared man in the carriage behind. It was a case of +broken rein.</p> + +<p>How the sight made Skipper's blood tingle! Wouldn't he just like to show +that crazy roan what real running was! But what was Reddy going to do? +He felt him gather up the reins. He felt his knees tighten. What! Yes, +it must be so. Reddy was actually going to try a brush with the runaway. +What fun!</p> + +<p>Skipper pranced out into the roadway and gathered himself for the sport. +Before he could get into full swing, however, the roan had shot past +with a snort of challenge which could not be misunderstood.</p> + +<p>"Oho! You will, eh?" thought Skipper. "Well now, we'll see about that."</p> + +<p>Ah, a free rein! That is—almost free. And a touch of the spurs! No need +for that, Reddy. How the carriages scatter!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">10</a></span> Skipper caught hasty +glimpses of smart hackneys drawn up trembling by the roadside, of women +who tumbled from bicycles into the bushes, and of men who ran and +shouted and waved their hats.</p> + +<p>"Just as though that little roan wasn't scared enough already," thought +Skipper.</p> + +<p>But she did run well; Skipper had to admit that. She had a lead of fifty +yards before he could strike his best gait. Then for a few moments he +could not seem to gain an inch. But the mare was blowing herself and +Skipper was taking it coolly. He was putting the pent-up energy of weeks +into his strides. Once he saw he was overhauling her he steadied to the +work.</p> + +<p>Just as Skipper was about to forge ahead, Reddy did a queer thing. With +his right hand he grabbed the roan with a nose-pinch grip, and with the +left he pulled in on the reins. It was a great<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">11</a></span> disappointment to +Skipper, for he had counted on showing the roan his heels. Skipper knew, +after two or three experiences of this kind, that this was the usual +thing.</p> + +<p>Those were glorious runs, though. Skipper wished they would come more +often. Sometimes there would be two and even three in a day. Then a +fortnight or so would pass without a single runaway on Skipper's beat. +But duty is duty.</p> + +<p>During the early morning hours, when there were few people in the park, +Skipper's education progressed. He learned to pace around in a circle, +lifting each forefoot with a sway of the body and a pawing movement +which was quite rhythmical. He learned to box with his nose. He learned +to walk sedately behind Reddy and to pick up a glove, dropped apparently +by accident. There was always a sugar-plum or a sweet cracker in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">12</a></span> +glove, which he got when Reddy stopped and Skipper, poking his nose over +his shoulder, let the glove fall into his hands.</p> + +<p>As he became more accomplished he noticed that "Reddy" took more pains +with his toilet. Every morning Skipper's coat was curried and brushed +and rubbed with chamois until it shone almost as if it had been +varnished. His fetlocks were carefully trimmed, a ribbon braided into +his forelock, and his hoofs polished as brightly as Reddy's boots. Then +there were apples and carrots and other delicacies which Reddy brought +him.</p> + +<p>So it happened that one morning Skipper heard the Sergeant tell Reddy +that he had been detailed for the Horse Show squad. Reddy had saluted +and said nothing at the time, but when they were once out on post he +told Skipper all about it.</p> + +<p>"Sure an' it's app'arin' before all the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">13</a></span> swells in town you'll be, me +b'y. Phat do ye think of that, eh? An' mebbe ye'll be gettin' a blue +ribbon, Skipper, me lad; an' mebbe Mr. Patrick Martin will have a +roundsman's berth an' chevrons on his sleeves afore the year's out."</p> + +<p>The Horse Show was all that Reddy had promised, and more. The light +almost dazzled Skipper. The sounds and the smells confused him. But he +felt Reddy on his back, heard him chirrup softly, and soon felt at ease +on the tanbark.</p> + +<p>Then there was a great crash of noise and Skipper, with some fifty of +his friends on the force, began to move around the circle. First it was +fours abreast, then by twos, and then a rush to troop front, when, in a +long line, they swept around as if they had been harnessed to a beam by +traces of equal length.</p> + +<p>After some more evolutions a half-dozen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">14</a></span> were picked out and put through +their paces. Skipper was one of these. Then three of the six were sent +to join the rest of the squad. Only Skipper and two others remained in +the centre of the ring. Men in queer clothes, wearing tall black hats, +showing much white shirt-front and carrying long whips, came and looked +them over carefully.</p> + +<p>Skipper showed these men how he could waltz in time to the music, and +the people who banked the circle as far up as Skipper could see shouted +and clapped their hands until it seemed as if a thunderstorm had broken +loose. At last one of the men in tall hats tied a blue ribbon on +Skipper's bridle.</p> + +<p>When Reddy got him into the stable, he fed him four big red apples, one +after the other. Next day Skipper knew that he was a famous horse. Reddy +showed him their pictures in the paper.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">15</a></span></p> + +<p>For a whole year Skipper was the pride of the force. He was shown to +visitors at the stables. He was patted on the nose by the Mayor. The +Chief, who was a bigger man than the Mayor, came up especially to look +at him. In the park Skipper did his tricks every day for ladies in fine +dress who exclaimed, "How perfectly wonderful!" as well as for pretty +nurse-maids who giggled and said, "Now did you ever see the likes o' +that, Norah?"</p> + +<p>And then came the spavin. Ah, but that was the beginning of the end! +Were you ever spavined? If so, you know all about it. If you haven't, +there's no use trying to tell you. Rheumatism? Well, that may be bad; +but a spavin is worse.</p> + +<p>For three weeks Reddy rubbed the lump on the hock with stuff from a +brown bottle, and hid it from the inspector. Then, one black morning, +the lump was discovered. That day Skipper did not go<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">16</a></span> out on post. Reddy +came into the stall, put his arm around his neck and said "Good-by" in a +voice that Skipper had never heard him use before. Something had made it +thick and husky. Very sadly Skipper saw him saddle one of the newcomers +and go out for duty.</p> + +<p>Before Reddy came back Skipper was led away. He was taken to a big +building where there were horses of every kind—except the right kind. +Each one had his own peculiar "out," although you couldn't always tell +what it was at first glance.</p> + +<p>But Skipper did not stay here long. He was led into a big ring before a +lot of men. A man on a box shouted out a number, and began to talk very +fast. Skipper gathered that he was talking about him. Skipper learned +that he was still only six years old, and that he had been owned as a +saddle-horse by a lady<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">17</a></span> who was about to sail for Europe and was closing +out her stable. This was news to Skipper. He wished Reddy could hear it.</p> + +<p>The man talked very nicely about Skipper. He said he was kind, gentle, +sound in wind and limb, and was not only trained to the saddle but would +work either single or double. The man wanted to know how much the +gentlemen were willing to pay for a bay gelding of this description.</p> + +<p>Someone on the outer edge of the crowd said, "Ten dollars."</p> + +<p>At this the man on the box grew quite indignant. He asked if the other +man wouldn't like a silver-mounted harness and a lap-robe thrown in.</p> + +<p>"Fifteen," said another man.</p> + +<p>Somebody else said "Twenty," another man said, "Twenty-five," and still +another, "Thirty." Then there was a hitch. The man on the box began to +talk very fast indeed:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">18</a></span></p> + +<p>"Thutty-thutty-thutty-thutty—do I hear the five? +Thutty-thutty-thutty-thutty—will you make it five?"</p> + +<p>"Thirty-five," said a red-faced man who had pushed his way to the front +and was looking Skipper over sharply.</p> + +<p>The man on the box said "Thutty-five" a good many times and asked if he +"heard forty." Evidently he did not, for he stopped and said very slowly +and distinctly, looking expectantly around: "Are you all done? +Thirty-five—once. Thirty-five—twice. Third—and last call—sold, for +thirty-five dollars!"</p> + +<p>When Skipper heard this he hung his head. When you have been a $250 +blue-ribboner and the pride of the force it is sad to be "knocked down" +for thirty-five.</p> + +<p>The next year of Skipper's life was a dark one. We will not linger over +it. The red-faced man who led him away<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">19</a></span> was a grocer. He put Skipper in +the shafts of a heavy wagon very early every morning and drove him a +long ways through the city to a big down-town market where men in long +frocks shouted and handled boxes and barrels. When the wagon was heavily +loaded the red-faced man drove him back to the store. Then a tow-haired +boy, who jerked viciously on the lines and was fond of using the whip, +drove him recklessly about the streets and avenues.</p> + +<p>But one day the tow-haired boy pulled the near rein too hard while +rounding a corner and a wheel was smashed against a lamp-post. The +tow-haired boy was sent head first into an ash-barrel, and Skipper, +rather startled at the occurrence, took a little run down the avenue, +strewing the pavement with eggs, sugar, canned corn, celery, and other +assorted groceries.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">20</a></span></p> + +<p>Perhaps this was why the grocer sold him. Skipper pulled a cart through +the flat-house district for a while after that. On the seat of the cart +sat a leather-lunged man who roared: "A-a-a-a-puls! Nice a-a-a-a-puls! A +who-o-ole lot fer a quarter!"</p> + +<p>Skipper felt this disgrace keenly. Even the cab-horses, on whom he used +to look with disdain, eyed him scornfully. Skipper stood it as long as +possible and then one day, while the apple fakir was standing on the +back step of the cart shouting things at a woman who was leaning half +way out of a fourth-story window, he bolted. He distributed that load of +apples over four blocks, much to the profit of the street children, and +he wrecked the wagon on a hydrant. For this the fakir beat him with a +piece of the wreckage until a blue-coated officer threatened to arrest +him. Next day Skipper was sold again.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">21</a></span></p> + +<p>Skipper looked over his new owner without joy. The man was evil of face. +His long whiskers and hair were unkempt and sun-bleached, like the tip +end of a pastured cow's tail. His clothes were greasy. His voice was +like the grunt of a pig. Skipper wondered to what use this man would put +him. He feared the worst.</p> + +<p>Far up through the city the man took him and out on a broad avenue where +there were many open spaces, most of them fenced in by huge bill-boards. +Behind one of these sign-plastered barriers Skipper found his new home. +The bottom of the lot was more than twenty feet below the street-level. +In the centre of a waste of rocks, ash-heaps, and dead weeds tottered a +group of shanties, strangely made of odds and ends. The walls were +partly of mud-chinked rocks and partly of wood. The roofs were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">22</a></span> patched +with strips of rusty tin held in place by stones.</p> + +<p>Into one of these shanties, just tall enough for Skipper to enter and no +more, the horse that had been the pride of the mounted park police was +driven with a kick as a greeting. Skipper noted first that there was no +feed-box and no hayrack. Then he saw, or rather felt—for the only light +came through cracks in the walls—that there was no floor. His nostrils +told him that the drainage was bad. Skipper sighed as he thought of the +clean, sweet straw which Reddy used to change in his stall every night.</p> + +<p>But when you have a lump on your leg—a lump that throbs, throbs, throbs +with pain, whether you stand still or lie down—you do not think much on +other things.</p> + +<p>Supper was late in coming to Skipper that night. He was almost starved +when it was served. And such a supper!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">23</a></span> What do you think? Hay? Yes, but +marsh hay; the dry, tasteless stuff they use for bedding in cheap +stables. A ton of it wouldn't make a pound of good flesh. Oats? Not a +sign of an oat! But with the hay there were a few potato-peelings. +Skipper nosed them out and nibbled the marsh hay. The rest he pawed back +under him, for the whole had been thrown at his feet. Then he dropped on +the ill-smelling ground and went to sleep to dream that he had been +turned into a forty-acre field of clover, while a dozen brass bands +played a waltz and multitudes of people looked on and cheered.</p> + +<p>In the morning more salt hay was thrown to him and water was brought in +a dirty pail. Then, without a stroke of brush or curry-comb he was led +out. When he saw the wagon to which he was to be hitched Skipper hung +his head. He had reached the bottom. It was unpainted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">24</a></span> and rickety as to +body and frame, the wheels were unmated and dished, while the shafts +were spliced and wound with wire.</p> + +<p>But worst of all was the string of bells suspended from two uprights +above the seat. When Skipper saw these he knew he had fallen low indeed. +He had become the horse of a wandering junkman. The next step in his +career, as he well knew, would be the glue factory and the boneyard. +Now when a horse has lived for twenty years or so, it is sad enough to +face these things. But at eight years to see the glue factory close at +hand is enough to make a horse wish he had never been foaled.</p> + +<p>For many weary months Skipper pulled that crazy cart, with its hateful +jangle of bells, about the city streets and suburban roads while the man +with the faded hair roared through his matted beard: "Buy o-o-o-o-olt +ra-a-a-a-ags! Buy o-o-o-o-olt ra-a-a-a-ags! Olt boddles! Olt copper! Olt +iron! Vaste baber!"</p> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 416px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="illus-003" id="illus-003"></a> +<img src='images/p024.jpg' alt='For many weary months Skipper pulled that crazy cart.' title='' width = '416' height = '582'/><br /> +<span class='caption'>For many weary months Skipper pulled that crazy cart.</span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">25</a></span>The lump on Skipper's hock kept growing bigger and bigger. It seemed as +if the darts of pain shot from hoof to flank with every step. Big +hollows came over his eyes. You could see his ribs as plainly as the +hoops on a pork-barrel. Yet six days in the week he went on long trips +and brought back heavy loads of junk. On Sunday he hauled the junkman +and his family about the city.</p> + +<p>Once the junkman tried to drive Skipper into one of the Park entrances. +Then for the first time in his life Skipper balked. The junkman pounded +and used such language as you might expect from a junkman, but all to no +use. Skipper took the beating with lowered head, but go through the gate +he would not. So the junkman gave it up, although he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">26</a></span> seemed very +anxious to join the line of gay carriages which were rolling in.</p> + +<p>Soon after this there came a break in the daily routine. One morning +Skipper was not led out as usual. In fact, no one came near him, and he +could hear no voices in the nearby shanty. Skipper decided that he +would take a day off himself. By backing against the door he readily +pushed it open, for the staple was insecure.</p> + +<p>Once at liberty, he climbed the roadway that led out of the lot. It was +late in the fall, but there was still short sweet winter grass to be +found along the gutters. For a while he nibbled at this hungrily. Then a +queer idea came to Skipper. Perhaps the passing of a smartly groomed +saddle-horse was responsible.</p> + +<p>At any rate, Skipper left off nibbling grass. He hobbled out to the edge +of the road, turned so as to face the opposite<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">27</a></span> side, and held up his +head. There he stood just as he used to stand when he was the pride of +the mounted squad. He was on post once more.</p> + +<p>Few people were passing, and none seemed to notice him. Yet he was an +odd figure. His coat was shaggy and weather-stained. It looked patched +and faded. The spavined hock caused one hind quarter to sag somewhat, +but aside from that his pose was strictly according to the regulations.</p> + +<p>Skipper had been playing at standing post for a half-hour, when a +trotting dandy who sported ankle-boots and toe-weights, pulled up before +him. He was drawing a light, bicycle-wheeled road-wagon in which were +two men.</p> + +<p>"Queer?" one of the men was saying. "Can't say I see anything queer +about it, Captain. Some old plug that's got away from a squatter; that's +all I see in it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">28</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, let's have a look," said the other. He stared hard at Skipper for +a moment and then, in a loud, sharp tone, said:</p> + +<p>"'Ten-shun! Right dress!"</p> + +<p>Skipper pricked up his ears, raised his head, and side-stepped stiffly. +The trotting dandy turned and looked curiously at him.</p> + +<p>"Forward!" said the man in the wagon. Skipper hobbled out into the road.</p> + +<p>"Right wheel! Halt! I thought so," said the man, as Skipper obeyed the +orders. "That fellow has been on the force. He was standing post. Looks +mighty familiar, too—white stockings on two forelegs, white star on +forehead. Now I wonder if that can be—here, hold the reins a minute."</p> + +<p>Going up to Skipper the man patted his nose once or twice, and then +pushed his muzzle to one side. Skipper ducked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">29</a></span> and countered. He had not +forgotten his boxing trick. The man turned his back and began to pace +down the road. Skipper followed and picked up a riding-glove which the +man dropped.</p> + +<p>"Doyle," said the man, as he walked back to the wagon, "two years ago +that was the finest horse on the force—took the blue ribbon at the +Garden. Alderman Martin would give $1,000 for him as he stands. He has +hunted the State for him. You remember Martin—Reddy Martin—who used to +be on the mounted squad! Didn't you hear? An old uncle who made a +fortune as a building contractor died about a year ago and left the +whole pile to Reddy. He's got a fine country place up in Westchester and +is in the city government. Just elected this fall. But he isn't happy +because he can't find his old horse—and here's the horse."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">30</a></span></p> + +<p>Next day an astonished junkman stood before an empty shanty which served +as a stable and feasted his eyes on a fifty-dollar bank-note.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>If you are ever up in Westchester County be sure to visit the stables of +Alderman P. Sarsfield Martin. Ask to see that oak-panelled box-stall +with the stained-glass windows and the porcelain feed-box. You will +notice a polished brass name-plate on the door bearing this inscription:</p> + +<p class='center'>SKIPPER.</p> + +<p>You may meet the Alderman himself, wearing an English-made riding-suit, +loping comfortably along on a sleek bay gelding with two white forelegs +and a white star on his forehead. Yes, high-priced veterinaries can cure +spavin—Alderman Martin says so.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CALICO" id="CALICO"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">31</a></span> +<h2>CALICO</h2><h3>WHO TRAVELLED WITH A ROUND TOP</h3> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">33</a></span>Something +there was about Calico's markings which stuck in one's mind, +as does a haunting memory, intangible but unforgotten. Surely the +pattern was obtrusive enough to halt attention; yet its vagaries were so +unexpected, so surprising that, even as you looked, you might hesitate +at declaring whether it was his withers or his flanks which were +carrot-red and if he had four white stockings or only three. It was +safer simply to say that he was white where he was not red and red where +he was not white. Moreover, his was a vivid coat.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">34</a></span></p> + +<p>Altogether Calico was a horse to be remarked and to be remembered. +Yet—and again yet—Calico was not wholly to blame for his many faults. +Farm breeding, which was more or less responsible for his bizarre +appearance, should also bear the burden of his failings. As a colt he +had been the marvel of the county, from Orono to Hermon Centre. He had +been petted, teased, humored, exhibited, coddled, fooled +with—everything save properly trained and broken.</p> + +<p>So he grew up a trace shirker and a halter-puller, with disposition, +temperament, and general behavior as uneven as his coloring.</p> + +<p>"The most good-fer-nothin' animal I ever wasted grain on!" declared +Uncle Enoch.</p> + +<p>For the better part of four unproductive years had the life of Calico +run to commonplaces. Then, early one June<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">35</a></span> morning, came an hour big +with events. Being the nigh horse in Uncle Enoch's pair, Calico caught +first glimpse of the weird procession which met them as they turned into +the Bangor road at Sherburne's Corners.</p> + +<p>Now it was Calico's habit to be on the watch for unusual sights, and +when he saw them to stick his ears forward, throw his head up, snort +nervously and crowd against the pole. Generally he got one leg over a +trace. There was a white bowlder at the top of Poorhouse Hill which +Calico never passed without going through some of these man[oe]uvres.</p> + +<p>"Hi-i-ish there! So-o-o! Dern yer crazy-quilt hide. Body'd think yer +never see that stun afore in yer life. Gee-long a-a-ap!" Uncle Enoch +would growl, accenting his words by jerking the lines.</p> + +<p>A scarecrow in the middle of a cornfield, an auction bill tacked to a +stump,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">36</a></span> an old hat stuffing a vacant pane and proclaiming the +shiftlessness of the Aroostook Billingses, would serve when nothing else +offered excuse for skittishness. Even sober Old Jeff, the off horse, +sometimes caught the infection for a moment. He would prick up his ears +and look inquiringly at the suspected object, but so soon as he saw what +it was down went his head sheepishly, as if he was ashamed of having +again been tricked.</p> + +<p>This morning, however, it was no false alarm. When Old Jeff was roused +out of his accustomed jog by Calico's nervous snorts he looked up to see +such a spectacle as he had never beheld in all his goings and comings up +and down the Bangor road. Looming out of the mist was a six-horse team +hitched to the most foreign-looking rig one could well imagine. It had +something of the look of a preposterous hay-cart, with the ends of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">37</a></span> +blue-painted poles sticking out in front and trailing behind. Following +this was a great, white-swathed wheeled box drawn by four horses. It was +certainly a curious affair, whatever it was, but neither Calico nor Old +Jeff gave it much heed, nor did they waste a glance on the distant tail +of the procession, for behind the wheeled box was a thing which held +their gaze.</p> + +<p>In the gray four o'clock light it seemed like an enormous cow that +rolled menacingly forward; not as a cow walks, however, but with a +swaying, heaving motion like nothing commonly seen on a Maine highway. +Instinctively both horses thrust their muzzles toward the thing and +sniffed. Without doubt Old Jeff was frightened. Perhaps not for nine +generations had any of his ancestors caught a whiff of that peculiarly +terrifying scent of which every horse inherits knowledge and dread.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">38</a></span></p> + +<p>As for Calico, he had no need of such spur as inherited terror. He had +fearsomeness enough of his own to send him rearing and pawing the air +until the whiffle-trees rapped his knees. Old Jeff did not rear. He +stared and snorted and trembled. When he felt his mate spring forward in +the traces he went with him, ready to do anything in order to get away +from that heaving, swaying thing which was coming toward them.</p> + +<p>"Whoa, ye pesky fools! Whoa, dod rot ye!" Uncle Enoch, wakened from the +half doze which he had been taking on the wagon-seat, now began to saw +on the lines. His shouts seemed to have aroused the heaving thing, for +it answered with a horrid, soul-chilling noise.</p> + +<p>By this time Calico was leaping frantically, snorting at every jump and +forcing Old Jeff to keep pace. They were at the top of a long grade and +down the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">39</a></span> slope the loaded wagon rattled easily behind them. Uncle Enoch +did his best. With feet well braced he tugged at the lines and shouted, +all to no purpose. Never before had Calico and Old Jeff met a circus on +the move. Neither had they previously come into such close quarters with +an elephant. One does not expect such things on the Bangor road. At +least they did not. They proposed to get away from such terrors in the +shortest possible time.</p> + +<p>Now the public ways of Maine are seldom macadamized. In places they are +laid out straight across and over the granite backbone of the +continent. The Bangor road is thus constructed in spots. This slope was +one of the spots where the bare ledge, with here and there six-inch +shelves and eroded gullies, offered a somewhat uneven surface to the +wheels. A well built Studebaker will stand a lot of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">40</a></span> this kind of +banging, but it is not wholly indestructible. So it happened that +half-way down the hill the left hind axle snapped at the hub. Thereupon +some two hundred dozen ears of early green-corn were strewn along the +flinty face of the highway, while Uncle Enoch was hurled, seat and all, +accompanied by four dozen eggs and ten pounds of Aunt Henrietta's best +butter, into the ditch.</p> + +<p>When the circus caravan overtook him Uncle Enoch had captured the +runaways and was leading them back to where the wrecked wagon lay by the +roadside. More or less butter was mixed with the sandy chin whiskers and +an inartistic yellow smooch down the front of his coat showed that the +eggs had followed him.</p> + +<p>"Rather lively pair of yours; eh, mister?" commented a red-faced man who +dropped off the pole-wagon.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">41</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, ruther lively," assented Uncle Enoch, "'Specially when ye don't +want 'em to be. The off one's stiddy enough. It's this cantankerous +skewbald that started the tantrum. Whoa now, blame ye!" Calico's nose +was in the air again and he was snorting excitedly.</p> + +<p>"Lemme hold him 'till old Ajax goes by," said the circus man.</p> + +<p>"Thank ye. I'll swap him off fust chance I git, ef I don't fetch back +nuthin' but a boneyard skate," declared Uncle Enoch.</p> + +<p>As Ajax lumbered by, the circus man eyed with interest the dancing +Calico. He noted with approval the coat of fantastic design, the springy +knees and the fine tail that rippled its white length almost to Calico's +heels.</p> + +<p>"I'll do better'n that by you, mister," said he. "I've got a +fourteen-hundred pound Vermont Morgan, sound as a dollar, only eight +years old and ain't afraid o'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">42</a></span> nothin'. I'll swap him even for your +skewbald."</p> + +<p>"Like to see him," said Uncle Enoch. "If he's half what ye say it's a +trade."</p> + +<p>"Here he comes on the band-wagon team;" then, to the driver: "Hey, Bill, +pull up!"</p> + +<p>In less than half an hour from the time Calico had bolted at sight of +the circus cavalcade he was part and parcel of it, and helping to pull +one of those mysterious sheeted wagons along in the wake of the +terrifying Ajax.</p> + +<p>"The old party don't give you a very good send off," said the boss +hostler reflectively to Calico, "but I reckon you'll get used to Ajax +and the music-chariot before the season's over. Leastways, you're bound +to be an ornament to the grand entry."</p> + +<p>Calico's life with the Grand Occidental began abruptly and vigorously. +The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">43</a></span> driver of the band-wagon knew his business. Even when half asleep +he could see loose traces. After Calico had heard the long lash whistle +about his ears a few times he concluded that it was best to do his share +of the pulling.</p> + +<p>And what pulling it was! There were six horses of them, Calico being one +of the swings, but on an uphill grade that old chariot was the most +reluctant thing he had ever known. Uncle Enoch's stone-boat, which +Calico had once held to be merely a heart-breaking instrument of +torture, seemed light in retrospect. Often did he look reproachfully at +the monstrous combination of gilded wood and iron. Why need band-wagons +be made so exasperatingly heavy? The atrociously carved Pans on the +corners, with their scarred faces and broken pipes, were cumbersome +enough to make a load for one pair of horses, all by themselves.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">44</a></span> Calico +would think of them as he was straining up a long hill. He could almost +feel them pulling back on the traces in a sort of wooden stubbornness. +And when the team rattled the old chariot down a rough grade how he +hoped that two or three of the figures might be jolted off. But in the +morning, when the show lot was reached and the travelling wraps taken +off the wagons, there he would see the heavy shouldered Pans all in +their places as hideous and as permanent as ever.</p> + +<p>It was a hard and bitter lesson which Calico learned, this matter of +keeping one's tugs tight. Uncle Enoch had spared the whip, but in the +heart of Broncho Bill, who drove the band-wagon, there was no leniency. +Ready and strong was his whip hand, and he knew how to make the blood +follow the lash. No effort did he waste on fat-padded flanks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">45</a></span> when he +was in earnest. He cut at the ears, where the skin is tender. He could +touch up the leaders as easily as he could the wheel-horses, and when he +aimed at the swings he never missed fire.</p> + +<p>Travelling with a round top Calico found to be no sinecure. The Grand +Occidental, being a wagon show, moved wholly by road. The shortest jump +was fifteen miles, but often they did thirty between midnight and +morning; and thirty miles over country highways make no short jaunt when +you have a five-ton chariot behind you. The jump, however, was only the +beginning of the day's work. No sooner had you finished breakfast than +you were hooked in for the street parade, meaning from two to four miles +more.</p> + +<p>You had a few hours for rest after that before the grand entry. Ah, that +grand entry! That was something to live for. No matter how bad the roads +or how<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">46</a></span> hard the hills had been Calico forgot it all during those ten +delightful minutes when, with his heart beating time to the rat-tat-tat +of the snare drum, he swung prancingly around the yellow arena.</p> + +<p>It all began in the dressing-tent with a period of confusion in which +horses were crowded together as thick as they could stand, while the +riders dressed and mounted in frantic haste, for to be late meant to be +fined. At last the ring-master clapped his hands as sign that all was in +readiness. There was a momentary hush. Then a bugle sounded, the flaps +were thrown back and to the crashing accompaniment of the band, the +seemingly chaotic mass unfolded into a double line as the horses broke +into a sharp gallop around the freshly dug ring.</p> + +<p>The first time Calico did the grand entry he felt as though he had been +sucked into a whirlpool and was being carried<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">47</a></span> around by some +irresistible force. So dazed was he by the music, by the hum of human +voices and by the unfamiliar sights, that he forgot to rear and kick. He +could only prance and snort. He went forward because the rider of the +outside horse dragged him along by the bridle rein. Around and around he +circled until he lost all sense of direction, and when he was finally +shunted out through the dressing-tent flaps he was so dizzy he could +scarcely stand.</p> + +<p>For a horse accustomed to shy at his own shadow this was heroic +treatment. But it was successful. In a month you could not have startled +Calico with a pound of dynamite. He would placidly munch his oats within +three feet of the spot where a stake-gang swung the heavy sledges in +staccato time. He cared no more for flapping canvas than for the wagging +of a mule's ears. As for noises,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">48</a></span> when one has associated with a steam +calliope one ceases to mind anything in that line. Old Ajax, it was +true, remained a terror to Calico for weeks, but in the end the horse +lost much of his dread for the ancient pachyderm, although he never felt +wholly comfortable while those wicked little eyes were turned in his +direction. Hereditary instincts, you know, die hard.</p> + +<p>During those four months in which the Grand Occidental flitted over the +New England circuit from Kenduskeag, Me., to Bennington, Vt., there came +upon Calico knowledge of many things. The farm-horse to whom Bangor's +market-square had been full of strange sights became, in comparison with +his former self, most sophisticated. He feared no noise save that +sinister whistle made by Broncho Bill's long lash. The roaring sputter +of gasoline flares was no more to him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">49</a></span> than the sound of a running +brook. He had learned that it was safe to kick a mere canvasman when you +felt like doing so, but that a real artist, such as a tumbler or a +trapeze man, was to be respected, and that the person of the ring-master +was most sacred. Also he acquired the knack of sleeping at odd times, +whenever opportunity offered and under any conditions.</p> + +<p>When he had grown thus wise, and when he had ceased to stumble over +guy-ropes and tent-stakes, Calico received promotion. He was put in as +outside horse of the leading pair in the grand entry. He was decorated +with a white-braided cord bridle with silk rosettes and he wore between +his ears a feather pompon. All this was very fine and grand, but there +was so little of it.</p> + +<p>After it was all over, when the crowds had gone, the top lowered and the +stakes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">50</a></span> pulled, he was hitched to the leaden-wheeled band-wagon to +strain and tug at the traces all through the last weary half of the +night. But when fame has started your way, be you horse or man, you +cannot escape. Just before the season closed Calico was put on the +sawdust. This was the way of it.</p> + +<p>A ninety-foot top, you know, carries neither extra people nor spare +horses. The performers must double up their acts. No one is exempt save +the autocratic high-bar folk, who own their own apparatus and dictate +contracts. So with the horses. The teams that pull the pole-wagon, the +chariots and the other wheeled things which a circus needs, must also +figure in the grand entry and in the hippodrome races. Even the +ring-horses have their share of road-work in a wagon show.</p> + +<p>To the dappled grays used by Mlle. Zaretti, who was a top-liner on the +bills,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">51</a></span> fell the lot of pulling the ticket-wagon, this being the +lightest work. It was Mlle. Zaretti's habit to ride one at the afternoon +show, the other in the evening. So when the nigh gray developed a +shoulder gall on the day that the off one went lame there arose an +emergency. Also there ensued trouble for the driver of the ticket-wagon. +First he was tongue lashed by Mademoiselle, then he was fined a week's +pay and threatened with discharge by the manager. But when the +increasing wrath of the Champion Lady Equestrienne of America led her to +demand his instant and painful annihilation the worm turned. The driver +profanely declared that he knew his business. He had travelled with Yank +Robinson, he had, and no female hair-grabber under canvas should call +him down more than once in the same day. There was more of this, added +merely for emphasis. Mlle.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">52</a></span> Zaretti saw the point. She had gone too far. +Whereupon she discreetly turned on her high French heels and meekly +asked the boss hostler for the most promising animal he had. The boss +picked out Calico.</p> + +<p>No sooner was the top up that day than Calico's training began. Well it +was that he had learned obedience, for this was to be his one great +opportunity. Many a time had Calico circled around the banked ring's +outer circumference, but never had he been within it. Neither had he +worn before a broad pad. By dint of leading and coaxing he was made to +understand that his part of the act was to canter around the ring with +Mlle. Zaretti on his back, where she was to be allowed to go through as +many motions as she pleased.</p> + +<p>For a green horse Calico conducted himself with much credit. He did not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">53</a></span> +stumble. He did not shy at the ring-master's whip. He did not try to +dodge the banners or the hoops after he found how harmless they were.</p> + +<p>"Well, if I cut my act perhaps I can manage, but if I break my neck I +hope you'll murder that fool driver," was Mlle. Zaretti's verdict and +petition when the lesson ended.</p> + +<p>Mlle. Zaretti's gyrations that afternoon and evening were somewhat tame +when you consider the manner in which she was billed. Calico did his +part with only a few excusable blunders, and she was so pleased that he +got the apples and sugarplums which usually rewarded the grays.</p> + +<p>The galled shoulder healed, but the lame leg developed into an incurably +stiff joint. Three nights later Calico, to his great joy, left the +band-chariot team forever, to find himself on the light ticket-wagon and +regularly entered as a ring<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">54</a></span> horse. Nor was this all. When the season +closed Mlle. Zaretti bought Calico at an exorbitant price. He was +shipped to a strange place, where they put him in a box-stall, fed him +with generous regularity and asked him to do absolutely nothing at all.</p> + +<p>It was a month before Calico saw his mistress again. He had been taken +into a great barn-like structure which had many sky-lights and windows. +Here was an ideal ring, smooth and springy, with no hidden rocks or soft +spots such as one sometimes finds when on the road. Mlle. Zaretti no +longer wore her spangled pink dress. Instead she appeared in serviceable +knickerbockers and wore wooden-soled slippers on her feet. In the middle +of the ring a man who was turning himself into a human pin-wheel stopped +long enough to shout: "Hello, Kate; signed yet?"</p> + +<p>"You bet," said Mlle. Zaretti. "Next spring I go out by rail with a +three topper.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">55</a></span> I'm going to do the real bareback act, too. No more broad +pads and wagon shows for Katie. Hey, Jim, rig up your Stokes' mechanic."</p> + +<p>Jim, a stout man who wore his suspenders outside a blue sweater and +talked huskily, arranged a swinging derrick-arm, the purpose of which, +it developed, was to keep Mlle. Zaretti off the ground whenever she +missed her footing on Calico's back. There was a broad leather belt +around her waist and to this was fastened a rope. Very often was this +needed during those first three weeks of practice, for, true to her +word, Mlle. Zaretti no longer strapped on Calico's back the broad pad to +which he had been accustomed. At first the wooden-soles hurt and made +him flinch, but in time the skin became toughened and he minded them not +at all, although Mlle. Zaretti was no featherweight.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">56</a></span></p> + +<p>Long before the snow was gone Mlle. Zaretti had discarded the +derrick-arm. Urging Calico to his best speed she would grasp the cinch +handles and with one light bound land on his well-resined back. Then, as +he circled around in an even, rythmical lope, she would jump the banners +and dive through the hoops. It was more or less fun for Calico, but it +all seemed so utterly useless. There were no crowds to see and applaud. +He missed the music and the cheering.</p> + +<p>At last there came a change. Calico and his mistress took a journey. +They arrived in the biggest city Calico had ever seen, and one +afternoon, to the accompaniment of such a crash of music and such a +chorus of "HI! HI! HI's!" as he had never before heard, they burst into +a great arena where were not only one ring but three, and about them, +tier on tier as far up as one could see, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">57</a></span> eager faces and gay +clothes of a vast multitude of spectators. Calico, as you will guess, +had become a factor in "The Grandest Aggregation."</p> + +<p>If Calico had longed for music and applause his wishes were surely +answered, for, although Mlle. Zaretti had jumped from a wagon-show to a +three-ring combination that began its season with an indoor March +opening, she was still a top-liner. That is, she had a feature act.</p> + +<p>Thus it was that just as the Japanese jugglers finished tossing each +other on their toes in the upper ring and while the property helpers +were making ready the lower one for the elephants, in the centre ring +Mlle. Zaretti and Calico alone held the attention of great audiences.</p> + +<p>"Mem-zelle Zar-ret-ti! Champ-i-on la-dy bare-back ri-der of the +wor-r-r-r-ld, on her beaut-i-ful Ar-a-bian steed!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">58</a></span></p> + +<p>That was the manner in which the megaphone announcer heralded their +appearance. Then followed a rattle of drums and a tooting of horns, +ending in one tremendous bang as Calico, lifting his feet so high and so +daintily you might have thought he was stepping over a row of china +vases, and bowing his head so low that his neck arched almost double, +came mincing into the arena. In his mouth he champed solid silver bits, +and his polished hoofs were rimmed with nickel-plated shoes. The heavy +bridle reins were covered with the finest white kid, as was the +surcingle which completed his trappings.</p> + +<p>Rather stout had Calico become in these halcyon days. His back and +flanks were like the surface of a well-upholstered sofa. His coat of +motley told its own story of daily rubbings and good feeding. The white +was dazzlingly white and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">59</a></span> carrot-red patches glowed like the inside +of a well-burnished copper kettle. So shiny was he that you could see +reflected on his sides the black, gold-spangled tights and fluffy black +skirts worn by Mlle. Zaretti, who poised on his back as lightly as if +she had been an ostrich-plume dropped on a snow-bank and who smilingly +kissed her finger-tips to the craning-necked tiers of spectators with +charming indiscrimination and admirable impartiality.</p> + +<p>You may imagine that this picture was not without its effect. Never did +it fail to draw forth a mighty volume of "Ohs!" and "Ah-h-h-hs!" +especially at the afternoon performances, when the youngsters were out +in force. And how Calico did relish this hum of admiration! Perhaps +Mlle. Zaretti thought some of it was meant for her. No such idea had +Calico.</p> + +<p>You could see this by the way in which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">60</a></span> he tossed his head and pawed +haughtily as he waited for the band to strike up his music. Oh, yes, +<i>his</i> music. You must know that by this time the horse that had once +pulled the stone-boat on Uncle Enoch's farm, and had later learned the +hard lesson of obedience under Broncho Bill's lash had now become an +equine personage. He had his grooms and his box-stall. He had whims +which must be humored. One of these had to do with the music which +played him through his act. He had discovered that the Blue Danube waltz +was exactly to his liking, and to no other tune would he consent to do +his best. Sulking was one of his new accomplishments.</p> + +<p>As for Mlle. Zaretti, she affected no such frills, but she was ever +ready to defend those of her horse. A hard-working, frugal, ambitious +young person was Mlle. Zaretti, whose few extravagances were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">61</a></span> mostly on +Calico's account. For him she demanded the Blue Danube waltz in the face +of the band-master's grumblings.</p> + +<p>When the Grandest Aggregation finally took the road the satisfaction of +Calico was complete. He was under canvas once more. No band-wagon work +wearied his nights. He even enjoyed the street parade. In the evening, +when his act was over, he left the tents, glowing huge and brilliant +against the night, and jogged quietly off to his padded car-stall, where +were to be had a full two hours' rest before No. 2 train pulled out.</p> + +<p>In the gray of the morning he would wake to contentedly look out through +his grated window at the flying landscape, remembering with a sigh of +satisfaction that no longer was he routed out at cockcrow to be driven +afield. Later he could see the curious crowds in the railroad yards as +the long lines of cars were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">62</a></span> shunted back and forth. As he lazily +munched his breakfast oats he watched the draught horses patiently drag +the huge chariots across the tracks and off to the show lot where <i>he</i> +was not due for hours.</p> + +<p>A life of mild exertion, enjoyable excitement, changing scenes, and +considerate treatment was his. No wonder the fat stuck to Calico's ribs. +No wonder his eyes beamed contentment. Such are the sweets of high +achievement.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was to sell early July peas that Uncle Enoch again took the Bangor +road one day about three years after his memorable meeting with the +Grand Occidental. On his way across the city to Norumbega Market he +found his way blocked by a line of waiting people. From an urchin-tossed +handbill, Uncle Enoch learned that the Grandest Aggregation was in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">63</a></span> town +and that "the Unparalleled Street Pageant" was about due. So he waited.</p> + +<p>With grim enjoyment Uncle Enoch watched the brilliant spectacle +impassively. Old Jeff merely pricked up his ears in curious interest as +the procession moved along in its dazzling course.</p> + +<p>"Zaretti, Bareback Queen of the World! On her Famous Arabian Steed +Abdullah! Presented to her by the Shah of Persia!"</p> + +<p>Thus read Uncle Enoch as he followed the printed order of parade with +toil-grimed forefinger.</p> + +<p>For a moment Uncle Enoch's gaze was held by the Bareback Queen, who +looked languidly into space over the top of the tiger cage. Then he +stared hard at the "far-famed Arabian steed," gift of the impulsive +Shah. Said steed was caparisoned in a gorgeous saddle-blanket hung with +silver fringe. A silver-mounted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">64</a></span> martingale dangled between his knees. +Holding the silk-tasselled bridle rein, and walking in respectful +attendance, was a groom in tight-fitting riding breeches and a cockaded +hat which rested mainly on his ears. The horse was of white, mottled +with carrot-red in such striking pattern that, having once seen it, one +could hardly forget.</p> + +<p>"Gee whilikins!" said Uncle Enoch softly to himself, as if fearful of +betraying some newly discovered secret.</p> + +<p>But Old Jeff was moved to no such reticence. Lifting his head over the +shoulders of the crowd he pointed his ears and gave vent to a quick, +glad whinny of recognition. The "far-famed Arabian," turning so sharply +that the unwary groom was knocked sprawling, looked hard at the humble +farm-horse, and then, with an answering high-pitched neigh, dashed +through the quickly scattering spectators.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">65</a></span></p> + +<p>It was a moment of surprises. The Bareback Queen of the World was +startled out of her day-dream to find her "Arabian steed" rubbing noses +with a ragged-coated horse hitched to a battered farm-wagon, in which +sat a chin-whiskered old fellow who grinned expansively and slyly winked +at her over the horses' heads.</p> + +<p>"It's all right, ma'am, I won't let on," he said.</p> + +<p>Before she could reply, the groom, who had rescued his cockaded hat and +his presence of mind, rushed in and dragged the far-famed steed back +into the line of procession.</p> + +<p>"Wall, I swan to man, ef Old Jeff didn't know that air Calicker afore I +did," declared Uncle Enoch, as he described the affair to Aunt +Henrietta; "an' me that raised him from a colt. I do swan to man!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">66</a></span></p> + +<p>Mlle. Zaretti did not "swan to man," whatever that may be, but to this +day she marvels concerning the one and only occasion when her trusted +Calico disturbed the progress of the Grandest Aggregation's unparalleled +street pageant.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="OLD_SILVER" id="OLD_SILVER"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">67</a></span> +<h2>OLD SILVER</h2><h3>A STORY OF THE GRAY HORSE TRUCK</h3> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">69</a></span>Down +in the heart of the skyscraper district, keeping watch and ward +over those presumptuous, man-made cliffs around which commerce heaps its +Fundy tides, you will find, unhandsomely housed on a side street, a hook +and ladder company, known unofficially and intimately throughout the +department as the Gray Horse Truck.</p> + +<p>Much like a big family is a fire company. It has seasons of good +fortune, when there are neither sick leaves nor hospital cases to +report; and it has periods of misfortune, when trouble and disaster<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">70</a></span> +stalk abruptly through the ranks. Gray Horse Truck company is no +exception. Calm prosperity it has enjoyed, and of swift, unexpected +tragedy it has had full measure. Yet its longest mourning and most +sincere, was when it lost Old Silver.</p> + +<p>Although some of the men of Gray Horse Truck had seen more than ten +years' continuous service in the house, not one could remember a time +when Old Silver had not been on the nigh side of the poles. Mikes and +Petes and Jims there had been without number. Some were good and some +were bad, some had lasted years and some only months, some had been kind +and some ugly, some stupid and some clever; but there had been but one +Silver, who had combined all their good traits as well as many of their +bad ones.</p> + +<p>Horses and men, Silver had seen them come and go. He had seen +probationers<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">71</a></span> rise step by step to battalion and deputy chiefs, win +shields and promotion or meet the sudden fate that is their lot. All +that time Silver's name-board had swung over his old stall, and when the +truck went out Silver was to be found in his old place on the left of +the poles. Driver succeeded driver, but one and all they found Silver +first under the harness when a station hit, first to jump forward when +the big doors rolled back, and always as ready to do his bit on a long +run as he was to demand his four quarts when feeding-time came.</p> + +<p>Before the days of the Training Stable, where now they try out new +material, Silver came into the service. That excellent institution, +therefore, cannot claim the credit of his selection. Perhaps he was +chosen by some shrewd old captain, who knew a fire-horse when he saw +one, even in the raw; perhaps it was only a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">72</a></span> happy chance which put him +in the business. At any rate, his training was the work of a master +hand.</p> + +<p>Silver was not one of the fretting kind, so at the age of fifteen he was +apple-round, his legs were straight and springy, and his eyes as full +and bright as those of a school-boy at a circus. The dapples on his gray +flanks were as distinct as the under markings on old velours, while his +tail had the crisp whiteness of a polished steel bit on a frosty +morning. Unless you had seen how shallow were his molar cups or noted +the length of his bridle teeth, would you have guessed him not more than +six.</p> + +<p>As for the education of Silver, its scope and completeness, no outsider +would have given credence to the half of it. When Lannigan had driven +the truck for three years, and had been cronies with Silver for nearly +five, it was his habit to say, wonderingly:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">73</a></span></p> + +<p>"He beats me, Old Silver does. I git onto some new wrinkle of his every +day. No; 'taint no sorter use to tell his tricks; you wouldn't believe, +nor would I an' I hadn't seen with me two eyes."</p> + +<p>In the way of mischief Silver was a star performer. What other +fire-horse ever mastered the intricacies of the automatic halter +release? It was Silver, too, that picked from the Captain's hip-pocket a +neatly folded paper and chewed the same with malicious enthusiasm. The +folded paper happened to be the Company's annual report, in the writing +of which the Captain had spent many weary hours.</p> + +<p>Other things besides mischief however, had Silver learned. Chief of +these was to start with the jigger. Sleeping or waking, lying or +standing, the summons that stirred the men from snoring ease to tense, +rapid action, never failed to find Silver alert. As the halter shank +slipped<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">74</a></span> through the bit-ring that same instant found Silver gathered +for the rush through the long narrow lane leading from his open stall to +the poles, above which, like great couchant spiders, waited the +harnesses pendant on the hanger-rods. It was unwise to be in Silver's +way when that little brazen voice was summoning him to duty. More than +one man of Gray Horse Truck found that out.</p> + +<p>Once under the harness Silver was like a carved statue until the +trip-strap had been pulled, the collar fastened and the reins snapped +in. Then he wanted to poke the poles through the doors, so eager was he +to be off. It was no fault of Silver's that his team could not make a +two-second hitch.</p> + +<p>With the first strain at the traces his impatience died out. A +sixty-foot truck starts with more or less reluctance. Besides, Silver +knew that before anything<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">75</a></span> like speed could be made it was necessary +either to mount the grade to Broadway or to ease the machine down to +Greenwich Street. It was traces or backing-straps for all that was in +you, and at the end a sharp turn which never could have been made had +not the tiller-man done his part with the rear wheels.</p> + +<p>But when once the tires caught the car-tracks Silver knew what to +expect. At the turn he and his team mates could feel Lannigan gathering +in the reins as though for a full stop. Next came the whistle of the +whip. It swept across their flanks so quickly that it was practically +one stroke for them all. At the same moment Lannigan leaned far forward +and shot out his driving arm. The reins went loose, their heads went +forward and, as if moving on a pivot, the three leaped as one horse. +Again the reins tightened for a second, again they were loosened.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">76</a></span> When +the bits were pulled back up came three heads, up came three pairs of +shoulders and up came three pairs of forelegs; for at the other end of +the lines, gripped vice-like in Lannigan's big fist, was swinging a good +part of Lannigan's one hundred and ninety-eight pounds.</p> + +<p>Left to themselves each horse would have leaped at a different instant. +It was that one touch of the lash and the succeeding swing of Lannigan's +bulk which gave them the measure, which set the time, which made it +possible for less than four thousand pounds of horse-flesh to jump a +five-ton truck up the street at a four-minute clip.</p> + +<p>For Silver all other minor pleasures in life were as nothing to the +fierce joy he knew when, with a dozen men clinging to the hand-rails, +the captain pulling the bell-rope and Lannigan, far up above them all, +swaying on the lines, the Gray Horse<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">77</a></span> Truck swept up Broadway to a first +call-box.</p> + +<p>It was like trotting to music, if you've ever done that. Possibly you +could have discovered no harmony at all in the confused roar of the +apparatus as it thundered past. But to the ears of Silver there were +many sounds blended into one. There were the rhythmical beat of hoofs, +the low undertone of the wheels grinding the pavement, the high note of +the forged steel lock-opener as it hammered the foot-board, the mellow +ding-dong of the bell, the creak of the forty-and fifty-foot extensions, +the rattle of the iron-shod hooks, the rat-tat-tat of the scaling +ladders on the bridge and the muffled drumming of the leather helmets as +they jumped in the basket.</p> + +<p>With the increasing speed all these sounds rose in pitch until, when the +team was at full-swing, they became one vibrant<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">78</a></span> theme—thrilling, +inspiring, exultant—the action song of the Truck.</p> + +<p>To enjoy such music, to know it at its best, you must leap in the +traces, feel the swing of the poles, the pull of the whiffle-trees, the +slap of the trace-bearers; and you must see the tangled street-traffic +clear before you as if by the wave of a magician's wand.</p> + +<p>Of course it all ended when, with heaving flanks and snorting nostrils +you stopped before a building, where thin curls of smoke escaped from +upper windows. Generally you found purring beside a hydrant a shiny +steamer which had beaten the truck by perhaps a dozen seconds. Then you +watched your men snatch the great ladders from the truck, heave them up +against the walls and bring down pale-faced, staring-eyed men and women. +You saw them tear open iron shutters, batter down doors, smash<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">79</a></span> windows +and do other things to make a path for the writhing, white-bodied, +yellow-nosed snakes that uncoiled from the engine and were carried +wriggling in where the flames lapped along baseboard and floor-beams. +You saw the little ripples of smoke swell into huge, cream-edged billows +that tumbled out and up so far above that you lost sight of them.</p> + +<p>Sometimes there came dull explosions, when smoke and flame belched out +about you. Sometimes stones and bricks and cornices fell near you. But +you were not to flinch or stir until Lannigan, who watched all these +happenings with critical and unwinking eyes, gave the word.</p> + +<p>And after it was all over—when the red and yellow flames had ceased to +dance in the empty window spaces, when only the white steam-smoke rolled +up through the yawning roof-holes—the ladders were re-shipped, you left +the purring engines<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">80</a></span> to drown out the last hidden spark, and you went +prancing back to your House, where the lonesome desk-man waited +patiently for your return.</p> + +<p>No loping rush was the homeward trip. The need for haste had passed. Now +came the parade. You might toss your head, arch your neck, and use all +your fancy steps: Lannigan didn't care. In fact, he rather liked to have +you show off a bit. The men on the truck, smutty of face and hands, +joked across the ladders. The strain was over. It was a time of +relaxing, for behind was duty well done.</p> + +<p>Then came the nice accuracy of swinging a sixty-foot truck in a +fifty-foot street and of backing through a fourteen-foot door wheels +which spanned thirteen feet from hub rim to hub rim.</p> + +<p>After unhooking there was the rubbing and the extra feeding of oats that +always follows a long run. How good it was to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">81</a></span> be bedded down after this +lung stretching, leg limbering work.</p> + +<p>Such was the life which Old Silver was leading when there arrived +disaster. It came in the shape of a milk leg. Perhaps it was caused by +over-feeding, but more likely it resulted from much standing in stall +during a fortnight when the runs had been few and short.</p> + +<p>It behaved much as milk legs usually do. While there was no great pain +the leg was unhandsome to look upon, and it gave to Old Silver a +clumsiness of movement he had never known before.</p> + +<p>Industriously did Lannigan apply such simple remedies as he had at hand. +Yet the swelling increased until from pastern to hock was neither shape +nor grace. Worst of all, in getting on his feet one morning, Silver +barked the skin with a rap from his toe calks. Then it did look bad. Of +course this had to happen just<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">82</a></span> before the veterinary inspector's +monthly visit.</p> + +<p>"Old Silver, eh?" said he. "Well, I've been looking for him to give out. +That's a bad leg there, a very bad leg. Send him up to the hospital in +the morning, and I'll have another gray down here. It's time you had a +new horse in his place."</p> + +<p>Lannigan stepped forward to protest. It was only a milk leg. He had +cured such before. He could cure this one. Besides, he couldn't spare +Silver, the best horse on his team.</p> + +<p>But the inspector often heard such pleas.</p> + +<p>"You drivers," said he, "would keep a horse going until he dropped +through the collar. To hear you talk anyone would think there wasn't +another horse in the Department. What do you care so long as you get +another gray?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">83</a></span></p> + +<p>Very much did Lannigan care, but he found difficulty in putting his +sentiments into words. Besides, of what use was it to talk to a blind +fool who could say that one gray horse was as good as another. Hence +Lannigan only looked sheepish and kept his tongue between his teeth +until the door closed behind the inspector. Then he banged a ham-like +fist into a broad palm and relieved his feelings in language both +forceful and picturesque. This failed to mend matters, so Lannigan, +putting an arm around the old gray's neck, told Silver all about it. +Probably Silver misunderstood, for he responded by reaching over +Lannigan's shoulder and chewing the big man's leather belt. Only when +Lannigan fed to him six red apples and an extra quart of oats did Silver +mistrust that something unusual was going to happen. Next morning, sure +enough, it did happen.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">84</a></span></p> + +<p>Some say Lannigan wept. As to that none might be sure, for he sat facing +the wall in a corner of the bunk-room. No misunderstanding could there +have been about his remarks, muttered though they were. They were +uncomplimentary to all veterinary inspectors in general, and most +pointedly uncomplimentary to one in particular. Below they were leading +Old Silver away to the hospital.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it was that Silver's milk leg was stubborn in yielding to +treatment. Perhaps the folks at the horse hospital deemed it unwise to +spend time and effort on a horse of his age. At any rate, after less +than a week's stay, he was cast into oblivion. They took away the leaden +number medal, which for more than ten years he had worn on a strap +around his neck, and they turned him over to a sales-stable as +carelessly as a battalion chief would toss away a half-smoked cigar.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">85</a></span></p> + +<p>Now a sales-stable is a place where horse destinies are shuffled by +reckless and unthinking hands. Also its doors open on the four corners +of the world's crossed highways. You might go from there to find your +work waiting between the shafts of a baker's cart just around the +corner, or you might be sent across seas to die miserably of tsetse +stings on the South African veldt.</p> + +<p>Neither of these things happened to Silver. It occurred that his arrival +at the sales-stable was coincident with a rush order from the Street +Cleaning Department. So there he went. Fate, it seemed, had marked him +for municipal service.</p> + +<p>There was no delay about his initiation. Into his forehoofs they branded +this shameful inscription: D. S. C. 937, on his back they flung a +forty-pound single harness with a dirty piece of canvas<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">86</a></span> as a blanket. +They hooked him to an iron dump-cart, and then, with a heavy lashed +whip, they haled him forth at 5.30 a.m. to begin the inglorious work of +removing refuse from the city streets.</p> + +<p>Perhaps you think Old Silver could not feel the disgrace, the ignominy +of it all. Could you have seen the lowered head, the limp-hung tail, the +dulled eyes and the dispirited sag of his quarters, you would have +thought differently.</p> + +<p>It is one thing to jump a hook and ladder truck up Broadway to the +relief of a fire-threatened block, and quite another to plod humbly +along the curb from ash-can to ash-can. How Silver did hate those cans. +Each one should have been for him a signal to stop. But it was not. In +consequence, he was yanked to a halt every two minutes.</p> + +<p>Sometimes he would crane his neck and look mournfully around at the +unsightly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">87</a></span> leg which he had come to understand was the cause of all his +misery. There would come into his great eyes a look of such pitiful +melancholy that one might almost fancy tears rolling out. Then he would +be roused by an exasperated driver, who jerked cruelly on the lines and +used his whip as if it had been a flail.</p> + +<p>When the cart was full Silver must drag it half across the city to the +riverfront, and up a steep runway from the top of which its contents +were dumped into the filthy scows that waited below. At the end of each +monotonous, wearisome day he jogged stiffly to the uninviting stables, +where he was roughly ushered into a dark, damp stall.</p> + +<p>To another horse, unused to anything better, the life would not have +seemed hard. Of oats and hay there were fair quantities, and there was +more or less hasty grooming. But to Silver, accustomed to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">88</a></span> such little +amenities as friendly pats from men, and the comradeship of his +fellow-workers, it was like a bad dream. He was not even cheered by the +fact that his leg, intelligently treated by the stable-boss, was growing +better. What did that matter? Had he not lost his caste? Express and +dray horses, the very ones that had once scurried into side streets at +sound of his hoofs, now insolently crowded him to the curb. When he had +been on the truck Silver had yielded the right of way to none, he had +held his head high; now he dodged and waited, he wore a blind bridle, +and he wished neither to see nor to be seen.</p> + +<p>For three months Silver had pulled that hateful refuse chariot about the +streets, thankful only that he traversed a section of the city new to +him. Then one day he was sent out with a new driver whose route lay +along familiar ways. The thing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">89</a></span> Silver dreaded, that which he had long +feared, did not happen for more than a week after the change.</p> + +<p>It came early one morning. He had been backed up in front of a big +office-building where a dozen bulky cans cumbered the sidewalk. The +driver was just lifting one of them to the tail-board when, from far +down the street, there reached Silver's ears a well-known sound. Nearer +it swept, louder and louder it swelled. The old gray lifted his lowered +head in spite of his determination not to look. The driver, too, poised +the can on the cart-edge, and waited, gazing.</p> + +<p>In a moment the noise and its cause were opposite. Old Silver hardly +needed to glance before knowing the truth. It was his old company, the +Gray Horse Truck. There was his old driver, there were his old team +mates. In a flash there passed from Silver's mind all memory of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">90</a></span> his +humble condition, his wretched state. Tossing his head and giving his +tail a swish, he leaped toward the apparatus, neatly upsetting the +filled ash-can over the head and shoulders of the bewildered driver.</p> + +<p>By a supreme effort Silver dropped into the old lope. A dozen bounds +took him abreast the nigh horse, and, in spite of Lannigan's shouts, +there he stuck, littering the newly swept pavement most disgracefully at +every jump. Thus strangely accompanied, the Gray Horse Truck thundered +up Broadway for ten blocks, and when it stopped, before a building in +which a careless watchman's lantern had set off the automatic, Old +Silver was part of the procession.</p> + +<p>It was Lannigan who, in the midst of an eloquent flow of indignant +abuse, made this announcement: "Why, boys—it's—it's our Old Silver; +jiggered if it ain't!"</p> + +<p>Each member of the crew having expressed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">91</a></span> his astonishment in +appropriate words, Lannigan tried to sum it all up by saying:</p> + +<p>"Silver, you old sinner! So they've put you in a blanked ash-cart, have +they? Well, I'll—I'll be——"</p> + +<p>But there speech failed him. His wits did not. There was a whispered +council of war. Lannigan made a daring proposal, at which all grinned +appreciatively.</p> + +<p>"Sure, they'd never find out," said one.</p> + +<p>"An' see, his game leg's most as good as new again," suggested another.</p> + +<p>It was an unheard-of, audacious, and preposterous proceeding; one which +the rules and regulations of the Fire Department, many and varied as +they are, never anticipated. But it was adopted. Meanwhile the Captain +found it necessary to inspect the interior of the building, the +Lieutenant turned his back, and the thing was done.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">92</a></span></p> + +<p>That same evening an ill-tempered and very dirty ash-cart driver turned +up at the stables with a different horse from the one he had driven out +that morning, much to the mystification of himself and certain officials +of the Department of Street Cleaning.</p> + +<p>Also, there pranced back as nigh horse of the truck a big gray with one +slightly swollen hind leg. By the way he held his head, by the look in +his big, bright eyes, and by his fancy stepping one might have thought +him glad to be where he was. And it was so. As for the rest, Lannigan +will tell you in strict confidence that the best mode of disguising +hoof-brands until they are effaced by new growth is to fill them with +axle-grease. It cannot be detected.</p> + +<p>Should you ever chance to see, swinging up lower Broadway, a +hook-and-ladder truck drawn by three big grays jumping<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">93</a></span> in perfect +unison, note especially the nigh horse—that's the one on the left side +looking forward. It will be Old Silver who, although now rising sixteen, +seems to be good for at least another four years of active service.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="BLUE_BLAZES" id="BLUE_BLAZES"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">95</a></span> +<h2>BLUE BLAZES</h2><h3>AND THE MARRING OF HIM</h3> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">97</a></span>Those +who should know say that a colt may have no worse luck than to be +foaled on a wet Friday. On a most amazingly wet Friday—rain above, +slush below, and a March snorter roaring between—such was the natal day +of Blue Blazes.</p> + +<p>And an unhandsome colt he was. His broomstick legs seemed twice the +proper length, and so thin you would hardly have believed they could +ever carry him. His head, which somehow suggested the lines of a +boot-jack, was set awkwardly on an ewed neck.</p> + +<p>For this pitiful, ungainly little figure<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">98</a></span> only two in all the world had +any feeling other than contempt. One of these, of course, was old Kate, +the sorrel mare who mothered him. She gazed at him with sad old eyes +blinded by that maternal love common to all species, sighed with huge +content as he nuzzled for his breakfast, and believed him to be the +finest colt that ever saw a stable. The other was Lafe, the chore boy, +who, when Farmer Perkins had stirred the little fellow roughly with his +boot-toe as he expressed his deep dissatisfaction, made reparation by +gently stroking the baby colt and bringing an old horse-blanket to wrap +him in. Old Kate understood. Lafe read gratitude in the big, sorrowful +mother eyes.</p> + +<p>Months later, when the colt had learned to balance himself on the +spindly legs, the old sorrel led him proudly about the pasture, showing +him tufts of sweet new spring grass, and taking him to the brook, where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">99</a></span> +were tender and juicy cowslips, finely suited to milk-teeth.</p> + +<p>In time the slender legs thickened, the chest deepened, the barrel +filled out, the head became less ungainly. As if to make up for these +improvements, the colt's markings began to set. They took the shapes of +a saddle-stripe, three white stockings, and an irregular white blaze +covering one side of his face and patching an eye. On chest and belly +the mother sorrel came out rather sharply, but on the rest of him was +that peculiar blending which gives the blue roan shade, a color +unpleasing to the critical eye, and one that lowers the market value.</p> + +<p>Lafe, however, found the colt good to look upon. But Lafe himself had no +heritage of beauty. He had not even grown up to his own long, thin legs. +Possibly no boy ever had hair of such a homely red. Certainly few could +have been found<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">100</a></span> with bigger freckles. But it was his eyes which +accented the plainness of his features. You know the color of a ripe +gooseberry, that indefinable faint purplish tint; well, that was it.</p> + +<p>If Lafe found no fault with Blue Blazes, the colt found no fault with +Lafe. At first the colt would sniff suspiciously at him from under the +shelter of the old sorrel's neck, but in time he came to regard Lafe +without fear, and to suffer a hand on his flank or the chore boy's arm +over his shoulder. So between them was established a gentle confidence +beautiful to see.</p> + +<p>Fortunate it would have been had Lafe been master of horse on the +Perkins farm. But he was not. Firstly, there are no such officials on +Michigan peach-farms; secondly, Lafe would not have filled the position +had such existed. Lafe, you see, did not really belong. He was an +interloper,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">101</a></span> a waif who had drifted in from nowhere in particular, and +who, because of a willingness to do a man's work for no wages at all, +was allowed a place at table and a bunk over the wagon-shed. Farmer +Perkins, more jealous of his reputation for shrewdness than of his +soul's salvation, would point to Lafe and say, knowingly:</p> + +<p>"He's a bad one, that boy is; look at them eyes." And surely, if Lafe's +soul-windows mirrored the color of his mental state, he was indeed in a +bad way.</p> + +<p>In like manner Farmer Perkins judged old Kate's unhandsome colt.</p> + +<p>"Look at them ears," he said, really looking at the unsightly +nose-blaze. "We'll have a circus when it comes to breakin' that +critter."</p> + +<p>Sure enough, it <i>was</i> more or less of a circus. Perhaps the colt was at +fault, perhaps he was not. Olsen, a sullen-faced Swede farm-hand, whose +youth had been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">102</a></span> spent in a North Sea herring-boat, and whose disposition +had been matured by sundry second mates on tramp steamers, was the +appropriate person selected for introducing Blue Blazes to the uses of a +halter.</p> + +<p>Judging all humans by the standard established by the mild-mannered +Lafe, the colt allowed himself to be caught after small effort. But when +the son of old Kate first felt a halter he threw up his head in alarm. +Abruptly and violently his head was jerked down. Blue Blazes was +surprised, hurt, angered. Something was bearing hard on his nose; there +was something about his throat that choked.</p> + +<p>Had he, then, been deceived? Here he was, wickedly and maliciously +trapped. He jerked and slatted his head some more. This made matters +worse. He was cuffed and choked. Next he tried rearing. His head was +pulled savagely<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">103</a></span> down, and at this point Olsen began beating him with +the slack of the halter rope.</p> + +<p>Ah, now Blue Blazes understood! They got your head and neck into that +arrangement of straps and rope that they might beat you. Wild with fear +he plunged desperately to right and left. Blindly he reared, pawing the +air. Just as one of his hoofs struck Olsen's arm a buckle broke. The +colt felt the nose-strap slide off. He was free.</p> + +<p>A marvellous tale of fierce encounter with a devil-possessed colt did +Olsen carry back to the farm-house. In proof he showed a broken halter, +rope-blistered hands, and a bruised arm.</p> + +<p>"I knew it!" said Farmer Perkins. "Knew it the minute I see them ears. +He's a vicious brute, that colt, but we'll tame him."</p> + +<p>So four of them, variously armed with whips and pitchforks, went down to +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">104</a></span> pasture and tried to drive Blue Blazes into a fence corner. But the +colt was not to be cornered. From one end of the pasture to the other he +raced. He had had enough of men for that day.</p> + +<p>Next morning Farmer Perkins tried familiar strategy. Under his coat he +hid a stout halter and a heavy bull whip. Then, holding a grain measure +temptingly before him, he climbed the pasture fence.</p> + +<p>In the measure were oats which he rattled seductively. Also he called +mildly and persuasively. Blue Blazes was suspicious. Four times he +allowed the farmer to come almost within reaching distance only to turn +and bolt with a snort of alarm just at the crucial moment. At last he +concluded that he must have just one taste of those oats.</p> + +<p>"Come coltie, nice coltie," cooed the man in a strained but conciliating +voice.</p> + +<p>Blue Blazes planted himself for a sudden<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">105</a></span> whirl, stretched his neck as +far as possible and worked his upper lip inquiringly. The smell of the +oats lured him on. Hardly had he touched his nose to the grain before +the measure was dropped and he found himself roughly grabbed by the +forelock. In a moment he saw the hated straps and ropes. Before he could +break away the halter was around his neck and buckled firmly.</p> + +<p>Farmer Perkins changed his tone: "Now, you damned ugly little brute, +I've got you! [Jerk] Blast your wicked hide! [Slash] You will, will you? +[Yank] I'll larn you!" [Slash.]</p> + +<p>Man and colt were almost exhausted when the "lesson" was finished. It +left Blue Blazes ridged with welts, trembling, fright sickened. Never +again would he trust himself within reach of those men; no, not if they +offered him a whole bushel of oats.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">106</a></span></p> + +<p>But it was a notable victory. Vauntingly Farmer Perkins told how he had +haltered the vicious colt. He was unconscious that a pair of ripe +gooseberry eyes turned black with hate, that behind his broad back was +shaken a futile fist.</p> + +<p>The harness-breaking of Blue Blazes was conducted on much the same plan +as his halter-taming, except that during the process he learned to use +his heels. One Olsen, who has since walked with a limp, can tell you +that.</p> + +<p>Another feature of the harness-breaking came as an interruption to +further bull-whip play by Farmer Perkins. It was a highly melodramatic +episode in which Lafe, gripping the handle of a two-tined pitchfork, his +freckled-face greenish-white and the pupils of his eyes wide with the +fear of his own daring, threatened immediate damage to the person of +Farmer Perkins, unless the said Perkins dropped<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">107</a></span> the whip. This Perkins +did. More than that, he fled with ridiculous haste, and in craven +terror; while Lafe, having given the trembling colt a parting caress, +quitted the farm abruptly and for all time.</p> + +<p>As for Blue Blazes, two days later he was sold to a travelling +horse-dealer, and departed without any sorrow of farewells. In the weeks +during which he trailed over the fruit district of southern Michigan in +the wake of the horse-buyer, Blue Blazes learned nothing good and much +that was ill. He finished the trip with raw hocks, a hoof-print on his +flank, and teeth-marks on neck and withers. Horses led in a bunch do not +improve in disposition.</p> + +<p>Some of the scores the blue-roan colt paid in kind, some he did not, but +he learned the game of give and take. Men and horses alike, he +concluded, were against him. If he would hold his own he must<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">108</a></span> be ready +with teeth and hoofs. Especially he carried with him always a black, +furious hatred of man in general.</p> + +<p>So he went about with ears laid back, the whites of his eyes showing, +and a bite or a kick ready in any emergency. Day by day the hate in him +deepened until it became the master-passion. A quick foot-fall behind him +was enough to send his heels flying as though they had been released by +a hair-trigger. He kicked first and investigated afterward. The mere +sight of a man within reaching distance roused all his ferocity.</p> + +<p>He took a full course in vicious tricks. He learned how to crowd a man +against the side of a stall, and how to reach him, when at his head, by +an upward and forward stroke of the forefoot. He could kick straight +behind with lightning quickness, or give the hoof a sweeping +side-movement most comprehensive and unexpected.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">109</a></span> The knack of lifting +the bits with the tongue and shoving them forward of the bridle-teeth +came in time. It made running away a matter of choice.</p> + +<p>When it became necessary to cause diversion he would balk. He no longer +cared for whips. Physically and mentally he had become hardened to +blows. Men he had ceased to fear, for most of them feared him and he +knew it. He only despised and hated them. One exception Blue Blazes +made. This was in favor of men and boys with red hair and freckles. Such +he would not knowingly harm. A long memory had the roan.</p> + +<p>Toward his own kind Blue Blazes bore himself defiantly. Double harness +was something he loathed. One was not free to work his will on the +despised driver if hampered by a pole and mate. In such cases he nipped +manes and kicked under the traces until released. He had a special<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">110</a></span> +antipathy for gray horses and fought them on the smallest provocation, +or upon none at all.</p> + +<p>As a result Blue Blazes, while knowing no masters, had many owners, +sometimes three in a single week. He began his career by filling a three +months' engagement as a livery horse, but after he had run away a dozen +times, wrecked several carriages, and disabled a hostler, he was sold +for half his purchase price.</p> + +<p>Then did he enter upon his wanderings in real earnest. He pulled +street-cars, delivery wagons, drays and ash-carts. He was sold to +unsuspecting farmers, who, when his evil traits cropped out, swapped him +unceremoniously and with ingenious prevarication by the roadside. In the +natural course of events he was much punished.</p> + +<p>Up and across the southern peninsula of Michigan he drifted +contentiously,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">111</a></span> growing more vicious with each encounter, more daring +after each victory. In Muskegon he sent the driver of a grocery wagon to +the hospital with a shoulder-bite requiring cauterization and four +stitches. In Manistee he broke the small bones in the leg of a baker's +large boy. In Cadillac a boarding-stable hostler struck him with an iron +shovel. Blue Blazes kicked the hostler quite accurately and very +suddenly through a window.</p> + +<p>Between Cadillac and Kalaska he spent several lively weeks with farmers. +Most of them tried various taming processes. Some escaped with bruises +and some suffered serious injury. At Alpena he found an owner who, +having read something very convincing in a horse-trainer's book, +elaborately strapped the roan's legs according to diagram, and then went +into the stall to wreak vengeance with a riding-whip. Blue Blazes +accepted one cut, after which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">112</a></span> he crushed the avenger against the plank +partition until three of the man's ribs were broken. The Alpena man was +fished from under the roan's hoofs just in time to save his life.</p> + +<p>This incident earned Blue Blazes the name of "man-killer," and it stuck. +He even figured in the newspaper dispatches. "Blue Blazes, the Michigan +Man-Killer," "The Ugliest Horse Alive," "Alpena's Equine Outlaw"; these +were some of the head-lines. The Perkins method had borne fruit.</p> + +<p>When purchasers for a four-legged hurricane could no longer be found, +Blue Blazes was sent up the lake to an obscure little port where they +have only a Tuesday and Friday steamer, and where the blue roan's record +was unknown. Horses were in demand there. In fact, Blue Blazes was sold +almost before he had been led down the gang-plank.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">113</a></span></p> + +<p>"Look out for him," warned the steam-boat man; "he's a wicked brute."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I've got a little job that'll soon take the cussedness out of him," +said the purchaser, with a laugh.</p> + +<p>Blue Blazes was taken down into the gloomy fore-hold of a three-masted +lake schooner, harnessed securely between two long capstan bars, and set +to walking in an aimless circle while a creaking cable was wound about a +drum. At the other end of the cable were fastened, from time to time, +squared pine-logs weighing half a ton each. It was the business of Blue +Blazes to draw these timbers into the hold through a trap-door opening +in the stern. There was nothing to kick save the stout bar, and there +was no one to bite. Well out of reach stood a man who cracked a whip +and, when not swearing forcefully, shouted "Ged-a-a-ap!"</p> + +<p>For several uneventful days he was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">114</a></span> forced to endure this exasperating +condition of affairs with but a single break in the monotony. This came +on the first evening, when they tried to unhook him. The experiment +ended with half a blue-flannel shirt in the teeth of Blue Blazes and a +badly scared lumber-shover hiding in the fore-peak. After that they put +grain and water in buckets, which they cautiously shoved within his +reach.</p> + +<p>Of course there had to be an end to this. In due time the Ellen B. was +full of square timbers. The Captain notified the owner of Blue Blazes +that he might take his blankety-blanked horse out of the Ellen B.'s +fore-hold. The owner declined, and entrenched himself behind a pure +technicality. The Captain had hired from him the use of a horse; would +the Captain kindly deliver said horse to him, the owner, on the dock? It +was a spirited controversy, in which the horse-owner scored<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">115</a></span> several +points. But the schooner captain by no means admitted defeat.</p> + +<p>"The Ellen B. gets under way inside of a half hour," said he. "If you +want your blankety-blanked horse you've got that much time to take him +away."</p> + +<p>"I stand on my rights," replied the horse-owner. "You sail off with my +property if you dare. Go ahead! Do it! Next time the Ellen B. puts in +here I'll libel her for damages."</p> + +<p>Yet in the face of this threat the Ellen B. cast off her hawsers, spread +her sails, and stood up the lake bound Chicagoward through the Straits +with Blue Blazes still on board. Not a man-jack of the crew would +venture into the fore-hold, where Blue Blazes was still harnessed to the +capstan bars.</p> + +<p>When he had been without water or grain for some twelve hours the wrath +in him, which had for days been growing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">116</a></span> more intense, boiled over. +Having voiced his rage in raucous squeals, he took to chewing the +bridle-strap and to kicking the whiffle-tree. The deck watch gazed down +at him in awe. The watch below, separated from him only by a thin +partition, expressed profane disapproval of shipping such a passenger.</p> + +<p>There was no sleep on the Ellen B. that night. About four in the morning +the continued effort of Blue Blazes met with reward. The halter-strap +parted, and the stout oak whiffle-tree was splintered into many pieces. +For some minutes Blue Blazes explored the hold until he found the +gang-plank leading upward.</p> + +<p>His appearance on the deck of the Ellen B. caused something like a +panic. The man at the wheel abandoned his post, and as he started for +the cross-trees let loose a yell which brought up all hands. Blue Blazes +charged them with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">117</a></span> open mouth. Not a man hesitated to jump for the +rigging. The schooner's head came up into the wind, the jib-sheet blocks +rattled idly and the booms swung lazily across the deck, just grazing +the ears of Blue Blazes.</p> + +<p>How long the roan might have held the deck had not his thirst been +greater than his hate cannot be told. Water was what he needed most, for +his throat seemed burning, and just overside was an immensity of water. +So he leaped. Probably the crew of the Ellen B. believe to this day that +they escaped by a miracle from a devil-possessed horse who, finding them +beyond his reach, committed suicide.</p> + +<p>But Blue Blazes had no thought of self-destruction. After swallowing as +much lake water as was good for him he struck out boldly for the shore, +which was not more than half a mile distant, swimming easily in the +slight swell. Gaining the log-strewn<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">118</a></span> beach, he found himself at the +edge of one of those ghostly, fire-blasted tamarack forests which cover +great sections of the upper end of Michigan's southern peninsula. At +last he had escaped from the hateful bondage of man. Contentedly he fell +to cropping the coarse beach-grass which grew at the forest's edge.</p> + +<p>For many long days Blue Blazes revelled in his freedom, sometimes +wandering for miles into the woods, sometimes ranging the beach in +search of better pasturage. Water there was aplenty, but food was +difficult to find. He even browsed bushes and tree-twigs. At first he +expected momentarily to see appear one of his enemies, a man. He heard +imaginary voices in the beat of the waves, the creaking of wind-tossed +tree-tops, the caw of crows, or in the faint whistlings of distant +steamers. He began to look suspiciously<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">119</a></span> behind knolls and stumps. But +for many miles up and down the coast was no port, and the only evidences +he had of man were the sails of passing schooners, or the trailing +smoke-plumes of steam-boats.</p> + +<p>Not since he could remember had Blue Blazes been so long without feeling +a whip laid over his back. Still, he was not wholly content. He felt a +strange uneasiness, was conscious of a longing other than a desire for a +good feed of oats. Although he knew it not, Blue Blazes, who hated men +as few horses have ever hated them, was lonesome. He yearned for human +society.</p> + +<p>When at last a man did appear on the beach the horse whirled and dashed +into the woods. But he ran only a short distance. Soon he picked his way +back to the lake shore and gazed curiously at the intruder. The man was +making a fire of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">120</a></span> driftwood. Blue Blazes approached him cautiously. The +man was bending over the fire, fanning it with his hat. In a moment he +looked up.</p> + +<p>A half minute, perhaps more, horse and man gazed at each other. Probably +it was a moment of great surprise for them both. Certainly it was for +the man. Suddenly Blue Blazes pricked his ears forward and whinnied. It +was an unmistakable whinny of friendliness if not of glad recognition. +The man on the beach had red hair—hair of the homeliest red you could +imagine. Also he had eyes of the color of ripe gooseberries.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"You see," said Lafe, in explaining the matter afterward, "I was hunting +for burls. I had seen 'em first when I was about sixteen. It was once +when a lot of us went up on the steamer from Saginaw after black bass. +We landed somewhere<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">121</a></span> and went up a river into Mullet Lake. Well, one day +I got after a deer, and he led me off so far I couldn't find my way back +to camp. I walked through the woods for more'n a week before I came out +on the lake shore. It was while I was tramping around that I got into a +hardwood swamp where I saw them burls, not knowing what they were at the +time.</p> + +<p>"When I showed up at home my stepfather was tearing mad. He licked me +good and had me sent to the reform school. I ran away from there after a +while and struck the Perkins farm. That's where I got to know Blue +Blazes. After my row with Perkins I drifted about a lot until I got work +in this very furniture factory," whereupon Lafe swept a comprehensive +hand about, indicating the sumptuously appointed office.</p> + +<p>"Well, I worked here until I saw them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">122</a></span> take off the cars a lot of those +knots just like the ones I'd seen on the trees up in that swamp. 'What +are them things?' says I to the foreman.</p> + +<p>"'Burls,' says he.</p> + +<p>"'Worth anything?' says I.</p> + +<p>"'Are they?' says he. 'They're the most expensive pieces of wood you can +find anywhere in this country. Them's what we saw up into veneers.'</p> + +<p>"That was enough for me. I had a talk with the president of the company. +'If you can locate that swamp, young man,' says he, 'and it's got in it +what you say it has, I'll help you to make your fortune."</p> + +<p>"So I started up the lake to find the swamp. That's how I come to run +across Blue Blazes again. How he came to be there I couldn't guess and +didn't find out for months. He was as glad to see me as I was to see +him. They told me afterward<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">123</a></span> that he was a man-killer. Man-killer +nothing! Why, I rode that horse for over a hundred miles down the +lake-shore with not a sign of a bridle on him.</p> + +<p>"Of course, he don't seem to like other men much, and he did lay up one +or two of my hostlers before I understood him. You see"—here Mr. Lafe, +furniture magnate, flushed consciously—"I can't have any but red-headed +men—red-headed like me, you know—about my stable, on account of Blue +Blazes. Course, it's foolish, but I guess the old fellow had a tough +time of it when he was young, same as I did; and now—well, he just +suits me, Blue Blazes does. I'd rather ride or drive him than any +thoroughbred in this country; and, by jinks, I'm bound he gets whatever +he wants, even if I have to lug in a lot of red-headed men from other +States."</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="CHIEFTAIN" id="CHIEFTAIN"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">125</a></span> +<h2>CHIEFTAIN</h2><h3>A STORY OF THE HEAVY DRAUGHT SERVICE</h3> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">127</a></span>He +was a three-quarter blood Norman, was Chieftain. You would have known +that by his deep, powerful chest, his chunky neck, his substantial, +shaggy-fetlocked legs. He had a family tree, registered sires, you know, +and, had he wished, could have read you a pedigree reaching back to Sir +Navarre (6893).</p> + +<p>Despite all this, Chieftain was guilty of no undue pride. Eight years in +the trucking business takes out of one all such nonsense. True, as a +three-year-old he had given himself some airs. There was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">128</a></span> small wonder +in that. He had been the boast of Keokuk County for a whole year. "We'll +show 'em what we can do in Indiana," the stockmaster had said as +Chieftain, his silver-white tail carefully done up in red flannel, was +led aboard the cars for shipment East.</p> + +<p>They are not unused to ton-weight horses in the neighborhood of the +Bull's Head, where the great sales-stables are. Still, when Chieftain +was brought out, his fine dappled coat shining like frosted steel in the +sunlight, and his splendid tail, which had been done up in straw crimps +over night, rippling and waving behind him, there was a great craning of +necks among the buyers of heavy draughts.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen," the red-faced auctioneer had shouted, "here's a buster; one +of the kind you read about, wide as a wagon, with a leg on each corner. +There's a ton of him, a whole ton. Who'll start him at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">129</a></span> three hundred? +Why, he's as good as money in the bank."</p> + +<p>That had been Chieftain's introduction to the metropolis. But the +triple-hitch is a great leveller. In single harness, even though one +does pull a load, there is chance for individuality. One may toss one's +head; aye, prance a bit on a nipping morning. But get between the poles +of a breast-team, with a horse on either side, and a twelve-ton load at +the trace-ends, and—well, one soon forgets such vanities as pride of +champion sires, and one learns not to prance.</p> + +<p>In his eight years as inside horse of breast-team No. 47, Chieftain had +forgotten much about pedigree, but he had learned many other things. He +had come to know the precise moment when, in easing a heavy load down an +incline, it was safe to slacken away on the breeching and trot gently. +He could tell, merely<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">130</a></span> by glancing at a rise in the roadway, whether a +slow, steady pull was needed, or if the time had come to stick in his +toe-calks and throw all of his two thousand pounds on the collar. He had +learned not to fret himself into a lather about strange noises, and not +to be over-particular as to the kind of company in which he found +himself working. Even though hitched up with a vicious Missouri Modoc on +one side and a raw, half collar-broken Kanuck on the other, he would do +his best to steady them down to the work. He had learned to stop at +crossings when a six-foot Broadway-squad officer held up one finger, and +to give way for no one else. He knew by heart all the road rules of the +crowded way, and he stood for his rights.</p> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 412px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="illus-004" id="illus-004"></a> +<img src='images/p130.jpg' alt='He would do his best to steady them down to the work.' title='' width = '412' height = '620'/><br /> +<span class='caption'>He would do his best to steady them down to the work.</span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">131</a></span>So, in stress of storm or quivering summer heat, did Chieftain toil +between the poles, hauling the piled-up truck, year in and year out, up +and down and across the city streets. And in time he had forgotten his +Norman blood, had forgotten that he was the great-grandson of Sir +Navarre.</p> + +<p>Some things there were, however, which Chieftain could not wholly +forget. These memories were not exactly clear, but, vague as they were, +they stuck. They had to do with fields of new grass, with the elastic +feel of dew-moistened turf under one's hoofs, with the enticing smell of +sweet clover in one's nostrils, the sound of gently moving leaves in +one's ears, and the sense that before, as well as behind, were long +hours of delicious leisure.</p> + +<p>It was only in the afternoons that these memories troubled Chieftain. In +the morning one feels fresh and strong and contented, and, when one has +time for any thought at all, there are comforting reflections that in +the nose-bags, swung<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">132</a></span> under the truck-seat, are eight quarts of good +oats, and that noon must come some time or other.</p> + +<p>But along about three o'clock of a July day, with stabling time too far +away to be thought of, when there was nothing to do but to stand +patiently in the glare of the sun-baked freight-yard, while Tim and his +helper loaded on case after case and barrel after barrel, then it was +that Chieftain could not help thinking about the fields of new grass, +and other things connected with his colt days.</p> + +<p>Sometimes, when he was plodding doggedly over the hard pavements, with +every foot-fall jarring tired muscles, he would think how nice it would +be, just for a week or so, to tread again that yielding turf he had +known such a long, long time ago. Then, perhaps, he would slacken just a +bit on the traces, and Tim would give that queer, shrill chirrup of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">133</a></span> +his, adding, sympathetically: "Come, me bye, come ahn!" Then Chieftain +would tighten the traces in an instant, giving his whole attention to +the business of keeping them taut and of placing each iron-shod hoof +just where was the surest footing.</p> + +<p>In this last you may imagine there is no knack. Perhaps you think it is +done off-hand. Well, it isn't. Ask any experienced draught-horse used to +city trucking. He will tell you that wet cobble-stones, smoothed by much +wear and greased with street slime, cannot be travelled heedlessly. +Either the heel or the toe calks must find a crevice somewhere. If they +do not, you are apt to go on your knees or slide on your haunches. +Flat-rail car-tracks give you unexpected side slips. So do the raised +rims of man-hole covers. But when it comes to wet asphalt—your calks +will not help you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">134</a></span> there. It's just a case of nice balancing and +trusting to luck.</p> + +<p>Much, of course, depends on the man at the other end of the lines. In +this particular Chieftain was fortunate, for a better driver than Tim +Doyle did not handle leather for the company. Even "the old man"—the +stable-boss—had been known to say as much.</p> + +<p>Chieftain had taken a liking to Tim the first day they turned out +together, when Chieftain was new to the city and to trucking. Driver +Doyle's fondness for Chieftain was of slower growth. In those days there +were other claimants for Tim's affections than his horses. There was a +Mrs. Doyle, for instance. Sometimes Chieftain saw her when Tim drove the +truck anywhere in the vicinity of the flat-house in which he lived. She +would come out and look at the team, and Tim would tell what fine horses +he had. There was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">135</a></span> a young Tim, too, a big, growing boy, who would now +and then ride on the truck with his father.</p> + +<p>One day—it was during Chieftain's fifth year in the service—something +had happened to Mrs. Doyle. Tim had not driven for three days that time, +and when he did come back he was a very sober Tim. He told Chieftain all +about it, because he had no one else to tell. Soon after this young Tim, +who had grown up, went away somewhere, and from that time on the +friendship between old Tim and Chieftain became closer than ever. Tim +spent more and more of his time at the stable, until at the end, he +fixed himself a bunk in the night watchman's office and made it his +home.</p> + +<p>So, for three years or more Chieftain had always had a good-night pat on +the flank from Tim, and in the morning, after the currying and rubbing, +they had a little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">136</a></span> friendly banter, in the way of love-slaps from Tim +and good-natured nosings from Chieftain. Perhaps many of Tim's +confidences were given half in jest, and perhaps Chieftain sometimes +thought that Tim was a bit slow in perception, but, all in all, each +understood the other, even better than either realized.</p> + +<p>Of course, Chieftain could not tell Tim of all those vague longings +which had to do with new grass and springy turf, nor could he know that +Tim had similar longings. These thoughts each kept to himself. But if +Chieftain was of Norman blood, a horse whose noble sires had ranged +pasture and paddock free from rein or trace, Tim was a Doyle whose +father and grandfather had lived close to the good green sod, and had +done their toil in the open, with the cool and calm of the country to +soothe and revive them.</p> + +<p>Of such delights as these both Chieftain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">137</a></span> and Tim had tasted scantily, +hurriedly, in youth; and for them, in the lapses of the daily grind, +both yearned, each after his own fashion.</p> + +<p>And, each in his way, Tim and Chieftain were philosophers. As the years +had come and gone, toil-filled and uneventful, the character of the man +had ripened and mellowed, the disposition of the horse had settled and +sweetened.</p> + +<p>In his earlier days Tim had been ready to smash a wheel or lose one, to +demand right of way with profane unction, and to back his word with +whip, fist, or bale-hook. But he had learned to yield an inch on +occasion and to use the soft word.</p> + +<p>Chieftain, too, in his first years between the poles, had sometimes been +impatient with the untrained mates who from time to time joined the +team. He had taken part in mane-biting and trace-kicking, especially<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">138</a></span> on +days when the loads were heavy and the flies thick, conditions which try +the best of horse tempers. But he had steadied down into a pole-horse +who could set an example that was worth more than all the six-foot +lashes ever tied to a whip-stock.</p> + +<p>It was during the spring of Chieftain's eighth year with the company +that things really began to happen. First there came rheumatism to Tim. +Trucking uses up men as well as horses, you know. While it is the hard +work and the heavy feeding of oats which burn out the animal, it is +generally the exposure and the hard drinking which do for the men. Tim, +however, was always moderate in his use of liquor, so he lasted longer +than most drivers. But at one-and-forty the wearing of rain-soaked +clothes called for reprisal. One wet May morning, after vainly trying to +hobble about the stable,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">139</a></span> Tim, with a bottle of horse liniment under his +arm, gave it up and went back to his bunk.</p> + +<p>Team No. 47 went out that day with a new driver, a cousin of the +stable-boss, who had never handled anything better than common, +light-weight express horses. How Chieftain did miss Tim those next few +days! The new man was slow at loading, and, to make up the time, he cut +short their dinner-hour. Now it is not the wise thing to hurry horses +who have just eaten eight quarts of oats. The team finished the day well +blown, and in a condition generally bad. Next day the new man let the +off horse stumble, and there was a pair of barked knees to be doctored.</p> + +<p>Matters went from bad to worse, until on the fourth day came the climax. +Sludge acid is an innocent-appearing liquid which sometimes stands in +pools<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">140</a></span> near gas-works. Good drivers know enough to avoid it. It is bad +for the hoofs. The new man still had many things to learn, and this +happened to be one of them. In the morning Team 47 was disabled. The +company's veterinary looked at the spongy hoofs and remarked to the +stable-boss: "About three weeks on the farm will fix 'em all right, I +guess; but I should advise you to chuck that new driver out of the +window; he's too expensive for us."</p> + +<p>That was how Chieftain's yearnings happened to be gratified at last. The +company, it seems, has a big farm, somewhere "up State," to which +disabled horses are sent for rest and recuperation. Invalided drivers +must look out for themselves. You can get a hundred truck drivers by +hanging out a sign: good draught horses are to be had only for a price.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">141</a></span></p> + +<p>Chieftain and Tim parted with mutual misgivings. To a younger horse the +long ride in the partly open stock-car might have been a novelty, but to +Chieftain, accustomed to ferries and the sight of all manner of wheeled +things, it was without new sensations.</p> + +<p>At the end of the ride—ah, that was different. There were the sweet, +fresh fields, the springy green turf, the trees—all just as he had +dreamed a hundred times. Halterless and shoe-freed, Chieftain pranced +about the pasture for all the world like a two-year-old. With head and +tail up he ranged the field. He even tried a roll on the grass. Then, +when he was tired, he wandered about, nibbling now and then at a +tempting bunch of grass, but mainly exulting in his freedom. There were +other company horses in the field, but most of them were busy grazing. +Each was disabled in some way.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">142</a></span> One was half foundered, one had a +leg-sprain, another swollen joints; but hoof complaints, such as +toe-cracks, quarter-cracks, brittle feet, and the like, were the most +frequent ills. They were not a cheerful lot, and they were unsociable.</p> + +<p>Chieftain went ambling off by himself, and in due time made acquaintance +with a rather gaunt, weather-beaten sorrel who hung his head lonesomely +over the fence from an adjoining pasture. He seemed grateful for the +notice taken of him by the big Norman, and soon they were the best of +friends. For hours they stood with their muzzles close together or their +necks crossed in fraternal fashion, swapping horse gossip after the +manner of their kind.</p> + +<p>The sorrel, it appeared, was farm-bred and farm-reared. He knew little +or nothing of pavements and city hauling. All his years had been spent +in the country.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">143</a></span> In spite of his bulging ribs and unkempt coat Chieftain +almost envied him. What a fine thing it must be to live as the sorrel +lived, to crop the new grass, to feel the turf under your feet, and to +drink, instead of the hard stuff one gets from the hydrant, the soft +sweet brook water, to drink it standing fetlock deep in the +hoof-soothing mud! But the sorrel was lacking in enthusiasm for country +life.</p> + +<p>About the fifth day of his rustication the sharp edge of Chieftain's +appreciation became dulled. He discovered that pasture life was wanting +in variety. Also he missed his oats. When one has been accustomed to +twenty-four quarts a day, and hay besides, grass seems a mild +substitute. Graze industriously as he would, it was hard to get enough. +The sorrel, however, was sure Chieftain would get used to all that.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">144</a></span></p> + +<p>In time, of course, the talk turned to the pulling of heavy loads. The +sorrel mentioned the yanking of a hay-rick, laden with two tons of +clover, from the far meadow lot to the barn. Two tons! Chieftain snorted +in mild disdain. Had not his team often swung down Broadway with sixteen +tons on the truck? To be sure, narrow tires and soft-going made a +difference.</p> + +<p>The country horse suggested that dragging a breaking plough through old +sod was strenuous employment. Yes, it might be, but had the sorrel ever +tightened the traces for a dash up a ferry bridgeway when the tide was +out? No, the sorrel had done his hauling on land. He had never ridden on +boats. He had heard them, though. They were noisy things, almost as +noisy as an old Buckeye mower going over a stony field.</p> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 444px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="illus-005" id="illus-005"></a> +<img src='images/p144.jpg' alt='Then let him snake a truck down West Street.' title='' width = '444' height = '669'/><br /> +<span class='caption'>Then let him snake a truck down West Street.</span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">145</a></span>Noise! Would the sorrel like to know what noise really was? Then let him +be hooked into a triple Boston backing hitch and snake a truck down West +Street, with the whiffle-trees slatting in front of him, the +spreader-bar rapping jig time on the poles, and the gongs of street-cars +and automobiles and fire-engines and ambulances all going at once. +Noise? Let him mix in a Canal Street jam or back up for a load on a +North River pier!</p> + +<p>And as Chieftain recalled these things the contrast of the pasture's +oppressive stillness to the lively roar of the familiar streets came +home to him. Who was taking his place between the poles of Team 47? Had +they put one of those cheeky Clydes in his old stall? He would not care +to lose that stall. It was the best on the second floor. It had a window +in it, and Sundays he could see everything that went on in the street +below. He could even look into the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">146</a></span> front rooms of the tenements across +the way. There was a little girl over there who interested Chieftain +greatly. She was trying to raise some sort of a flower in a tin can +which she kept on the window-ledge. She often waved her hand at +Chieftain.</p> + +<p>Then there was poor Tim Doyle. Good old Tim! Where was another driver +like him? He made you work, Tim did, but he looked out for you all the +time. Always on the watch, was Tim, for galled spots, chafing sores, +hoof-pricks, and things like that. If he could get them he would put on +fresh collar-pads every week. And how carefully he would cover you up +when you were on the forward end of a ferryboat in stormy weather. No +tossing the blanket over your back from Tim. No, sir! It was always +doubled about your neck and chest, just where you most need protection<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">147</a></span> +when you're steaming hot and the wind is raw. How many drivers warmed +the bits on a cold morning or rinsed out your mouth in hot weather? Who, +but Tim could drive a breast team through a——</p> + +<p>But just here Chieftain heard a shrill, familiar whistle, and in a +moment, with as much speed as his heavy build allowed, he was making his +way across the field to where a short, stocky man with a broad grin +cleaving his face, was climbing the pasture-fence. It was Tim Doyle +himself.</p> + +<p>Tim, it seems, had so bothered the stable-boss with questions about the +farm, its location, distance from the city, and general management, that +at last that autocrat had said: "See here, Doyle, if you want to go up +there just say so and I'll send you as car hostler with the next batch. +I'll give you a note to the farm<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">148</a></span> superintendent. Guess he'll let you +hang around for a week or so."</p> + +<p>"I'll go up as hostler," said Tim, "but you just say in that there note +that Tim Doyle pays his own way after he gets there."</p> + +<p>In that way it was settled. For some four days Tim appeared to enjoy it +greatly. Most of his time he spent sitting on the pasture-fence, smoking +his pipe and watching the grazing horses. To Chieftain alone he brought +great bunches of clover.</p> + +<p>About the fifth day Tim grew restive. He had examined Chieftain's hoofs +and pronounced them well healed, but the superintendent said that it +would be a week before he should be ready to send another lot of horses +back to the city.</p> + +<p>"How far is it by road?" asked Tim.</p> + +<p>"Oh, two hundred miles or so," said the superintendent.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">149</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why not let me take Chieftain down that way? It'd be cheaper'n shippin' +him, an' do him good."</p> + +<p>The superintendent only laughed and said he would ship Chieftain with +the others, when he was ready.</p> + +<p>That evening Tim sat on the bench before the farm-house and smoked his +pipe until everyone else had gone to bed. The moon had risen, big and +yellow. In a pond behind the stables it seemed as if ten thousand frogs +had joined in one grand chorus. They were singing their mating song, if +you know what that is. It is not altogether a cheerful or harmonious +effort. Next to the soughing of a November wind it is, perhaps, the most +dismally lonesome sound in nature.</p> + +<p>For two hours Tim Doyle smoked and thought and listened. Then he knocked +the ashes out of his pipe and decided that he had been long enough in +the country.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">150</a></span> He would walk to the station, two miles away, and take the +midnight train to the city. As he went down the farm road skirting the +pasture he saw in the moonlight the sheds where the horses went at night +for shelter. Moved by some sudden whim, he stopped and whistled. A +moment later a big horse appeared from under the shed and came toward +him, neighing gratefully. It was Chieftain.</p> + +<p>"Well, Chieftain, me bye, I'll be lavin' ye for a spell. But I'll have +yer old stall ready against yer comin' back. Good-by, laddie," and with +this Tim patted Chieftain on the nose and started down the road. He had +gone but a few steps when he heard Chieftain whinny. Tim stopped +irresolutely, and then went on. Again came the call of the horse. There +was no misunderstanding its meaning. Tim walked back to the fence.</p> + +<p>In the morning the farm superintendent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">151</a></span> found on the door-sill a roughly +pencilled note which read:</p> + +<p>"Hav goan bak to the sitty P S chefetun warnted to goe so I tuk him. Tim +Doyle."</p> + +<p>They were ten days on the road, ten delightful days of irresponsible +vagabondism. Sometimes Tim rode on Chieftain's back and sometimes he +walked beside him. At night they took shelter in any stable that was +handy. Tim invested in a bridle and saddle blanket. Also he bought oats +and hay for Chieftain. The big Norman followed his own will, stopping to +graze by the roadside whenever he wished. Together they drank from +brooks and springs. Between them was perfect comradeship. Each was in +holiday mood and each enjoyed the outing to the fullest. As they passed +through towns they attracted no little attention, for outside of the +city 2,000-pound horses<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">152</a></span> are seldom seen, and there were many admirers +of Chieftain's splendid proportions. Tim had many offers from shrewd +horse-dealers.</p> + +<p>"Ye would, eh? A whole hundred dollars!" Tim would answer with fine +sarcasm. "Now, wouldn't that be too much, don't ye think? My, my, what a +generous mon it is! G'wan, Chieftain, er Mister Car-na-gy here'll be +after givin' us a lib'ry."</p> + +<p>Chieftain, and Tim, too, for that matter, were nearer actual freedom +than ever before. For years the big Norman had used his magnificent +muscles only for straining at the traces. He had trod only the hard +pavements. Now, he put forth his glorious strength at leisure, moving +along the pleasant country roads at his own gait, and being guided only +when a turning was to be made.</p> + +<p>Fine as it all was, however, as they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">153</a></span> drew near to the city both horse +and driver became eager to reach their old quarters. Tim was, for he has +said so. As for Chieftain—let the stable-boss, who knows horse-nature +better than most men know themselves, tell that part of the story.</p> + +<p>"Bigger lunatics than them two, Tim Doyle and old Chieftain, I never set +eyes on," he says. "I was standin' down here by the double doors +watchin' some of the day-teams unhook when I looks up the street on a +sudden. An' there, tail an' head up like he was a 'leven-hundred-pound +Kentucky hunter 'stead of heavy-weight draught, comes that old +Chieftain, a whinnyin' like a three-year-old. An' on his back, mind you, +old Tim Doyle, grinnin' away 'sif he was Tod Sloan finishin' first at +the Brooklyn Handicap. Tickled? I never see a horse show anything so +plain in all my life. He just<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">154</a></span> streaked it up that runway and into his +old stall like he was a prodigal son come back from furren parts.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Tim he's out on the truck with his old team. Tim don't have to +drive nowadays, you know. Brother of his that was in the contractin' +business died about three months ago an' left Tim quite a pile. Tim, he +says he guesses the money won't take no hurt in the bank and that some +day, when he an' Chieftain git ready to retire, maybe it'll come in +handy."</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="BARNACLES" id="BARNACLES"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">155</a></span> +<h2>BARNACLES</h2><h3>WHO MUTINIED FOR GOOD CAUSE</h3> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">157</a></span>With +his coming to Sculpin Point there was begun for Barnacles the most +surprising period of a more or less useful career which had been filled +with unusual equine activities. For Barnacles was a horse, a white horse +of unguessed breed and uncertain age.</p> + +<p>Most likely it was not, but it may have been, Barnacles's first intimate +connection with an affair of the heart. Said affair was between Captain +Bastabol Bean, owner and occupant of Sculpin Point, and Mrs. Stashia +Buckett, the unlamenting relict of the late Hosea Buckett.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">158</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Buckett it was who induced Captain Bastabol Bean to purchase a +horse. Captain Bean, you will understand, had just won the affections of +the plump Mrs. Buckett. Also he had, with a sailor's ignorance of +feminine ways, presumed to settle off-hand the details of the coming +nuptials.</p> + +<p>"I'll sail over in the dory Monday afternoon," said he, "and take you +back with me to Sculpin Point. You can have your dunnage sent over later +by team. In the evenin' we'll have a shore chaplain come 'round an' make +the splice."</p> + +<p>"Cap'n Bean," replied the rotund Stashia, "we won't do any of them +things, not one."</p> + +<p>"Wha-a-at!" gasped the Captain.</p> + +<p>"Have you ever been married, Cap'n Bean?"</p> + +<p>"N-n-no, my dear."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">159</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, I have, and I guess I know how it ought to be done. You'll have +the minister come here, and here <i>you'll</i> come to marry me. You won't +come in no dory, either. Catch me puttin' my two hundred an' thirty +pounds into a little boat like that. You'll drive over here with a +horse, like a respectable person, and you'll drive back with me, by land +and past Sarepta Tucker's house so's she can see."</p> + +<p>Now for more than thirty years Bastabol Bean, as master of coasting +schooners up and down the Atlantic seaboard, had given orders. He had +taken none, except the formal directions of owners. He did not propose +to begin taking them now, not even from such an altogether charming +person as Stashia Buckett. This much he said. Then he added:</p> + +<p>"Stashia, I give in about coming here to marry you; that seems no more +than<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">160</a></span> fair. But I'll come in a dory and you'll go back in a dory."</p> + +<p>"Then you needn't come at all, Cap'n Bastabol Bean."</p> + +<p>Argue and plead as he might, this was her ultimatum.</p> + +<p>"But, Stashia, I 'ain't got a horse, never owned one an' never handled +one, and you know it," urged the Captain.</p> + +<p>"Then it's high time you had a horse and knew how to drive him. Besides, +if I go to Sculpin Point I shall want to come to the village once in a +while. I sha'n't sail and I sha'n't walk. If I can't ride like a lady I +don't go to the Point."</p> + +<p>The inevitable happened. Captain Bean promised to buy a horse next day. +Hence his visit to Jed Holden and his introduction to Barnacles, as the +Captain immediately named him.</p> + +<p>As one who inspects an unfamiliar object, Captain Bean looked dazedly at +Barnacles.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">161</a></span> At the same time Barnacles inspected the Captain. With head +lowered to knee level, with ears cocked forward, nostrils sniffing and +under-lip twitching almost as if he meant to laugh, Barnacles eyed his +prospective owner. In common with most intelligent horses, he had an +almost human way of expressing curiosity.</p> + +<p>Captain Bean squirmed under the gaze of Barnacles's big, calm eyes for a +moment, and then shifted his position.</p> + +<p>"What in time does he want anyway, Jed?" demanded the Captain.</p> + +<p>"Wants to git acquainted, that's all, Cap'n. Mighty knowin' hoss, he is. +Now some hosses don't take notice of anything. They're jest naturally +dumb. Then agin you'll find hosses that seem to know every blamed word +you say. Them's the kind of hosses that's wuth havin."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">162</a></span></p> + +<p>"S'pose he knows all the ropes, Jed?"</p> + +<p>"I should say he did, Cap'n. If there's anything that hoss ain't done in +his day I don't know what 'tis. Near's I can find out he's tried every +kind of work, in or out of traces, that you could think of."</p> + +<p>"Sho!" The Captain was now looking at the old white horse in an +interested manner.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, that's a remarkable hoss," continued the now enthusiastic Mr. +Holden. "He's been in the cavalry service, for he knows the bugle calls +like a book. He's travelled with a circus—ain't no more afraid of +elephants than I be. He's run on a fire engine—know that 'cause he +wants to chase old Reliance every time she turns out. He's been a +street-car hoss, too. You jest ring a door gong behind him twice an' see +how quick he'll dig in his toes. The feller I got him off'n said he knew +of his havin' been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">163</a></span> used on a milk wagon, a pedler's cart and a hack. +Fact is, he's an all round worker."</p> + +<p>"Must be some old by your tell," suggested the Captain. "Sure his +timbers are all sound?"</p> + +<p>"Dun'no' 'bout his timbers, Cap'n, but as fer wind an' limb you won't +find a sounder hoss, of his age, in this county. Course, I'm not sellin' +him fer a four-year-old. But for your work, joggin' from the P'int into +the village an' back once or twice a week, I sh'd say he was jest the +ticket; an' forty-five, harness an' all as he stands, is dirt cheap."</p> + +<p>Again Captain Bean tried to look critically at the white horse, but once +more he met that calm, curious gaze and the attempt was hardly a +success. However, the Captain squinted solemnly over Barnacles's withers +and remarked:</p> + +<p>"Yes, he has got some good lines, as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">164</a></span> you say, though you wouldn't +hardly call him clipper built. Not much sheer for'ard an' a leetle too +much aft, eh?"</p> + +<p>At this criticism Jed snorted mirthfully.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I s'pose he's all right," quickly added the Captain. "Fact is, I +ain't never paid much attention to horses, bein' on the water so much. +You're sure he'll mind his helm, Jed?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he'll go where you p'int him."</p> + +<p>"Won't drag anchor, will he?"</p> + +<p>"Stand all day if you'll let him."</p> + +<p>"Well, Jed, I'm ready to sign articles, I guess."</p> + +<p>It was about noon that a stable-boy delivered Barnacles at Sculpin +Point. His arrival caused Lank Peters to suspend peeling the potatoes +for dinner and demand explanation.</p> + +<p>"Who's the hoss for, Cap'n?" asked Lank.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">165</a></span></p> + +<p>It was a question that Captain Bean had been dreading for two hours. +When he had given up coasting, bought the strip of Massachusetts +seashore known as Sculpin Point, built a comfortable cottage on it and +settled down within sight and sound of the salt water, he had brought +with him Lank Peters, who for a dozen years had presided over the galley +in the Captain's ship.</p> + +<p>More than a mere sea-cook was Lank Peters to Captain Bean. He was +confidential friend, advising philosopher, and mate of Sculpin Point. +Yet from Lank had the Captain carefully concealed all knowledge of his +affair with the Widow Buckett. The time of confession was at hand.</p> + +<p>In his own way and with a directness peculiar to all his acts, did +Captain Bean admit the full sum of his rashness, adding, thoughtfully: +"I s'pose you won't have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">166</a></span> to do much cookin' after Stashia comes; but +you'll still be mate, Lank, and there'll be plenty to keep you busy on +the P'int."</p> + +<p>Quietly and with no show of emotion, as befitted a sea-cook and a +philosopher, Melankthon Peters heard these revelations. If he had his +prejudices as to the wisdom or folly of marrying widows, he said no +word. But in the matter of Barnacles he felt more free to express +something of his uneasiness.</p> + +<p>"I didn't ship for no hostler, Cap'n, an' I guess I'll make a poor fist +at it, but I'll do my best," he said.</p> + +<p>"Guess we'll manage him between us, Lank," cheerfully responded the +Captain. "I ain't got much use for horses myself; but as I said, +Stashia, she's down on boats."</p> + +<p>"Kinder sot in her idees, ain't she, Cap'n?" insinuated Lank.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">167</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, kinder," the Captain admitted.</p> + +<p>Lank permitted himself to chuckle guardedly. Captain Bastabol Bean, as +an innumerable number of sailor-men had learned, was a person who +generally had his own way. Intuitively the Captain understood that Lank +had guessed of his surrender. A grim smile was barely suggested by the +wrinkles about his mouth and eyes.</p> + +<p>"Lank," he said, "the Widow Buckett an' me had some little argument over +this horse business an'—an'—I give in. She told me flat she wouldn't +come to the P'int if I tried to fetch her by water in the dory. Well, I +want Stashia mighty bad; for she's a fine woman, Lank, a mighty fine +woman, as you'll say when you know her. So I promised to bring her home +by land and with a horse. I'm bound to do it, too. But by time!" Here +the Captain suddenly slapped his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">168</a></span> knee. "I've just been struck with a +notion. Lank, I'm going to see what you think of it."</p> + +<p>For an hour Captain and mate sat in the sun, smoked their pipes and +talked earnestly. Then they separated. Lank began a close study of +Barnacles's complicated rigging. The Captain tramped off toward the +village.</p> + +<p>Late in the afternoon the Captain returned riding in a sidebar buggy +with a man. Behind the buggy they towed a skeleton lumber wagon—four +wheels connected by an extension pole. The man drove away in the sidebar +leaving the Captain and the lumber wagon.</p> + +<p>Barnacles, who had been moored to a kedge-anchor, watched the next day's +proceedings with interest. He saw the Captain and Lank drag up from the +beach the twenty-foot dory and hoist it up between the wheels. Through +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">169</a></span> forward part of the keelson they bored a hole for the king-bolt. +With nut-bolts they fastened the stern to the rear axle, adding some +very seamanlike lashings to stay the boat in place. As finishing touches +they painted the upper strakes of the dory white, giving to the lower +part and to the running-gear of the cart a coat of sea-green.</p> + +<p>Barnacles was experienced, but a vehicle such as this amphibious product +of Sculpin Point he had never before seen. With ears pointed and +nostrils palpitating from curiosity, he was led up to the boat-bodied +wagon. Reluctantly he backed under the raised shafts. The practice-hitch +was enlivened by a monologue, on the part of Captain Bean, which ran +something like this:</p> + +<p>"Now, Lank, pass aft that backstay [the trace] and belay; no, not there! +Belay to that little yard-arm [whiffle-tree].<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">170</a></span> Got it through the +lazy-jack [trace-bearer]? Now reeve your jib-sheets [lines] through them +dead-eyes [hame rings] and pass 'em aft. Now where in Tophet does this +thingumbob [holdback] go? Give it a turn around the port bowsprit +[shaft]. There, guess everything's taut."</p> + +<p>The Captain stood off to take an admiring glance at the turnout.</p> + +<p>"She's down by the bow some, Lank, but I guess she'll lighten when we +get aboard. See what you think."</p> + +<p>Lank's inspection caused him to meditate and scratch his head. Finally +he gave his verdict: "From midships aft she looks as trim as a liner, +but from midships for'ard she looks scousy, like a Norwegian tramp after +a v'yage round The Horn."</p> + +<p>"Color of old Barnacles don't suit, eh? No, it don't, that's so. But I +couldn't find no green an' white horse, Lank."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">171</a></span></p> + +<p>"Couldn't we paint him up a leetle, Cap'n?"</p> + +<p>"By Sancho, I never thought of that!" exclaimed Captain Bean. "Course we +can; git a string an' we'll strike a water-line on him."</p> + +<p>With no more ado than as if the thing was quite usual, the preparations +for carrying out this indignity were begun. Perhaps the victim thought +it a new kind of grooming, for he made no protest. Half an hour later +old Barnacles, from about the middle of his barrel down to his shoes, +was painted a beautiful sea-green. Like some resplendent marine monster +shone the lower half of him. It may have been a trifle bizarre, but, +with the sun on the fresh paint, the effect was unmistakably striking. +Besides, his color now matched that of the dory's with startling +exactness.</p> + +<p>"That's what I call real ship-shape,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">172</a></span> declared Captain Bean, viewing +the result. "Got any more notions, Lank?"</p> + +<p>"Strikes me we ought to ship a mast so's we could rig a sprit-sail in +case the old horse should give out, Cap'n."</p> + +<p>"We'll do it, Lank; fust rate idee!"</p> + +<p>So a mast and sprit-sail were rigged in the dory. Also the lines were +lengthened with rope, that the Captain might steer from the stern +sheets.</p> + +<p>"She's as fine a land-goin' craft as ever I see anywhere," said the +Captain, which was certainly no extravagant statement.</p> + +<p>How Captain Bean and his mate steered the equipage from Sculpin Point to +the village, how they were cheered and hooted along the route, how they +ran into the yard of the Metropolitan Livery Stable as a port of refuge, +how the Captain escaped to the home of Widow Buckett, how the "splicin'" +was accomplished—these are details which must be slighted.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">173</a></span></p> + +<p>The climax came when the newly made Mrs. Bastabol Buckett Bean, her +plump hand resting affectionately on the sleeve of the Captain's best +blue broadcloth coat, said, cooingly: "Now, Cap'n, I'm ready to drive to +Sculpin Point."</p> + +<p>"All right, Stashia, Lank's waitin' for us at the front door with the +craft."</p> + +<p>At first sight of the boat on wheels Mrs. Bean could do no more than +attempt, by means of indistinct ejaculation, to express her obvious +emotion. She noted the grinning crowd of villagers, Sarepta Tucker among +them. She saw the white and green dory with its mast, and with Lank, +villainously smiling, at the top of a step-ladder which had been leaned +against the boat; she saw the green wheels, and the verdant gorgeousness +of Barnacles's lower half. For a moment she gazed at the fantastic +equipage and spoke not. Then she slammed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">174</a></span> the front door with an +indignant bang, marched back into the sitting-room and threw herself on +the haircloth sofa with an abandon that carried away half a dozen +springs.</p> + +<p>For the first hour she reiterated, between vast sobs, that Captain Bean +was a soulless wretch, that she would never set foot on Sculpin Point, +and that she would die there on the sofa rather than ride in such an +outlandish rig.</p> + +<p>Many a time had Captain Bean weathered Hatteras in a southeaster, but +never had he met such a storm of feminine fury as this. However, he +stood by like a man, putting in soothing words of explanation and +endearment whenever a lull gave opportunity.</p> + +<p>Toward evening the storm spent itself. The disturbed Stashia became +somewhat calm. Eventually she laughed hysterically at the Captain's +arguments, and in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">175</a></span> the end she compromised. Not by day would she enter +the dory wagon, but late in the evening she would swallow her pride and +go, just to please the Captain.</p> + +<p>Thus it was that soon after ten o'clock, when the village folks had +laughed their fill and gone away, the new Mrs. Bean climbed the +step-ladder, bestowed herself unhandily on the midship thwart and, with +Lank on lookout in the bow, and Captain Bean handling the reins from the +stern sheets, the honeymoon chariot got under way.</p> + +<p>By the time they reached the Shell Road the gait of the dejected +Barnacles had dwindled to a deliberate walk which all of Lank's urgings +could not hasten. It was a soft July night with a brisk offshore breeze +and the moon had come up out of the sea to silver the highway and lay a +strip of milk-white carpet over the waves.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">176</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ahoy there, Lank!" shouted the bridegroom. "Can't we do better'n this? +Ain't hardly got steerage-way on her."</p> + +<p>"Can't budge him, Cap'n. Hadn't we better shake-out the sprit-sail; +wind's fair abeam."</p> + +<p>"Yes, shake it out, Lank."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bean's feeble protest was unheeded. As the night wind caught the +sail and rounded it out the flapping caused old Barnacles to cast an +investigating glance behind him. One look at the terrible white thing +which loomed menacingly above him was enough. He decided to bolt. Bolt +he did to the best of his ability, all obstacles being considered. A +down grade in the Shell Road, where it dipped toward the shore, helped +things along. Barnacles tightened the traces, the sprit-sail did its +share, and in an amazingly short time the odd vehicle was spinning +toward Sculpin Point at a ten-knot<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">177</a></span> gait. Desperately Mrs. Bean gripped +the gunwale and lustily she screamed:</p> + +<p>"Whoa, whoa! Stop him, Captain, stop him! He'll smash us all to pieces!"</p> + +<p>"Set right still, Stashia, an' trim ship. I've got the helm," responded +the Captain, who had set his jaws and was tugging at the rope lines.</p> + +<p>"Breakers ahead, sir!" shouted Lank at this juncture.</p> + +<p>Sure enough, not fifty yards ahead, the Shell Road turned sharply away +from the edge of the beach to make a detour by which Sculpin Point was +cut off.</p> + +<p>"I see 'em, Lank."</p> + +<p>"Think we can come about, Cap'n?" asked Lank, anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Ain't goin to try, Lank. I'm layin' a straight course for home. Stand +by to bail."</p> + +<p>How they could possibly escape capsizing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">178</a></span> Lank could not understand +until, just as Barnacles was about to make the turn, he saw the Captain +tighten the right-hand rein until it was as taut as a weatherstay. Of +necessity Barnacles made no turn, and there was no upset. Something +equally exciting happened, though.</p> + +<p>Leaving the road with a speed which he had not equalled since the days +when he had figured in the "The Grand Hippodrome Races," his sea-green +legs quickened by the impetus of the affair behind him, Barnacles +cleared the narrow strip of beach-grass at a jump. Another leap and he +was hock deep in the surf. Still another, and he split a roller with his +white nose.</p> + +<p>With a dull chug, a resonant thump, and an impetuous splash the dory +entered its accustomed element, lifting some three gallons of salt water +neatly over the bows. Lank ducked. The unsuspecting Stashia<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">179</a></span> did not, +and the flying brine struck fairly under her ample chin.</p> + +<p>"Ug-g-g-gh! Oh! Oh! H-h-h-elp!" spluttered the startled bride, and tried +to get on her feet.</p> + +<p>"Sit down!" roared Captain Bean. Vehemently Stashia sat.</p> + +<p>"W-w-w-we'll all b-b-be d-d-drowned, drowned!" she wailed.</p> + +<p>"Not much we won't, Stashia. We're all right now, and we ain't goin' to +have our necks broke by no fool horse, either. Trim in the sheet, Lank, +an' then take that bailin' scoop." The Captain was now calmly confident +and thoroughly at home.</p> + +<p>Drenched, cowed and trembling, the newly made Mrs. Bean clung +despairingly to the thwart, fully as terrified as the plunging +Barnacles, who struck out wildly with his green legs, and snorted every +time a wave hit him. But the lines<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">180</a></span> held up his head and kept his nose +pointing straight for the little beach on Sculpin Point, perhaps a +quarter of a mile distant.</p> + +<p>Somewhat heavy weather the deep-laden dory made of it, and in spite of +Lank's vigorous bailing the water sloshed around Mrs. Bean's boot-tops, +yet in time the sail and Barnacles brought them safely home.</p> + +<p>"'Twa'n't exactly the kind of honeymoon trip I'd planned, Stashia," +commented the Captain, as he and Lank steadied the bride's dripping bulk +down the step-ladder, "and we did do some sailin', spite of ourselves; +but we had a horse in front an' wheels under us all the way, just as I +promised."</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="BLACK_EAGLE" id="BLACK_EAGLE"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">181</a></span> +<h2>BLACK EAGLE</h2><h3>WHO ONCE RULED THE RANGES</h3> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">183</a></span> +Of his sire and dam there is no record. All that is known is that he was +raised on a Kentucky stock farm. Perhaps he was a son of Hanover, but +Hanoverian or no, he was a thoroughbred. In the ordinary course of +events he would have been tried out with the other three-year olds for +the big meet on Churchill Downs. In the hands of a good trainer he might +have carried to victory the silk of some great stable and had his name +printed in the sporting almanacs to this day.</p> + +<p>But there was about Black Eagle nothing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">184</a></span> ordinary, either in his blood +or in his career. He was born for the part he played. So at three, +instead of being entered in his class at Louisville, it happened that he +was shipped West, where his fate waited.</p> + +<p>No more comely three year old ever took the Santa Fé trail. Although he +stood but thirteen hands and tipped the beam at scarcely twelve hundred +weight, you might have guessed him to be taller by two hands. The +deception lay in the way he carried his shapely head and in the manner +in which his arched neck tapered from the well-placed shoulders.</p> + +<p>A horseman would have said that he had a "perfect barrel," meaning that +his ribs were well rounded. His very gait was an embodied essay on +graceful pride. As for his coat, save for a white star just in the +middle of his forehead, it was as black and sleek as the nap on a new +silk<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">185</a></span> hat. After a good rubbing he was so shiny that at a distance you +might have thought him starched and ironed and newly come from the +laundry.</p> + +<p>His arrival at Bar L Ranch made no great stir, however. They were not +connoisseurs of good blood and sleek coats at the Bar L outfit. They +were busy folks who most needed tough animals that could lope off fifty +miles at a stretch. They wanted horses whose education included the fine +art of knowing when to settle back on the rope and dig in toes. It was +not a question as to how fast you could do your seven furlongs. It was +more important to know if you could make yourself useful at a round-up.</p> + +<p>"'Nother bunch o' them green Eastern horses," grumbled the ranch boss as +the lot was turned into a corral. "But that black fellow'd make a +rustler's mouth water, eh, Lefty?" In answer to which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">186</a></span> the said Lefty, +being a man little given to speech, grunted.</p> + +<p>"We'll brand 'em in the mornin'," added the ranch boss.</p> + +<p>Now most steers and all horses object to the branding process. Even the +spiritless little Indian ponies, accustomed to many ingenious kinds of +abuse, rebel at this. A meek-eyed mule, on whom humility rests as an +all-covering robe, must be properly roped before submitting.</p> + +<p>In branding they first get a rope over your neck and shut off your wind. +Then they trip your feet by roping your forelegs while you are on the +jump. This brings you down hard and with much abruptness. A cowboy sits +on your head while others pin you to the ground from various +vantage-points. Next someone holds a red-hot iron on your rump until it +has sunk deep into your skin. That is branding.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">187</a></span></p> + +<p>Well, this thing they did to the black thoroughbred, who had up to that +time felt not so much as the touch of a whip. They did it, but not +before a full dozen cow-punchers had worked themselves into such a fury +of exasperation that no shred of picturesque profanity was left unused +among them.</p> + +<p>Quivering with fear and anger, the black, as soon as the ropes were +taken off, dashed madly about the corral looking in vain for a way of +escape from his torturers. Corrals, however, are built to resist just +such dashes. The burn of a branding iron is supposed to heal almost +immediately. Cowboys will tell you that a horse is always more +frightened than hurt during the operation, and that the day after he +feels none the worse.</p> + +<p>All this you need not credit. A burn is a burn, whether made purposely +with a branding iron or by accident in any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">188</a></span> other way. The scorched +flesh puckers and smarts. It hurts every time a leg is moved. It seems +as if a thousand needles were playing a tattoo on the exposed surface. +Neither is this the worst of the business. To a high-strung animal the +roping, throwing, and burning is a tremendous nervous shock. For days +after branding a horse will jump and start, quivering with expectant +agony, at the slightest cause.</p> + +<p>It was fully a week before the black thoroughbred was himself again. In +that time he had conceived such a deep and lasting hatred for all men, +cowboys in particular, as only a high-spirited, blue-blooded horse can +acquire. With deep contempt he watched the scrubby little cow ponies as +they doggedly carried about those wild, fierce men who threw their +circling, whistling, hateful ropes, who wore such big, sharp spurs and +who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">189</a></span> were viciously handy in using their rawhide quirts.</p> + +<p>So when a cowboy put a breaking-bit into the black's mouth there was +another lively scene. It was somewhat confused, this scene, but at +intervals one could make out that the man, holding stubbornly to mane +and forelock, was being slatted and slammed and jerked, now with his +feet on the ground, now thrown high in the air and now dangling +perilously and at various angles as the stallion raced away.</p> + +<p>In the end, of course, came the whistle of the choking, foot-tangling +ropes, and the black was saddled. For a fierce half hour he took +punishment from bit and spur and quirt. Then, although he gave it up, it +was not that his spirit was broken, but because his wind was gone. Quite +passively he allowed himself to be ridden out on the prairie to where +the herds were grazing.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">190</a></span></p> + +<p>Undeceived by this apparent docility, the cowboy, when the time came for +him to bunk down under the chuck wagon for a few hours of sleep, +tethered his mount quite securely to a deep-driven stake. Before the +cattleman had taken more than a round dozen of winks the black had +tested his tether to the limit of his strength. The tether stood the +test. A cow pony might have done this much. There he would have stopped. +But the black was a Kentucky thoroughbred, blessed with the inherited +intelligence of noble sires, some of whom had been household pets. So he +investigated the tether at close range.</p> + +<p>Feeling the stake with his sensitive upper lip he discovered it to be +firm as a rock. Next he backed away and wrenched tentatively at the +halter until convinced that the throat strap was thoroughly sound. His +last effort must<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">191</a></span> have been an inspiration. Attacking the taut buckskin +rope with his teeth he worked diligently until he had severed three of +the four strands. Then he gathered himself for another lunge. With a +snap the rope parted and the black dashed away into the night, leaving +the cowboy snoring confidently by the camp-fire.</p> + +<p>All night he ran, on and on in the darkness, stopping only to listen +tremblingly to the echo of his own hoofs and to sniff suspiciously at +the crouching shadows of innocent bushes. By morning he had left the Bar +L outfit many miles behind, and when the red sun rolled up over the edge +of the prairie he saw that he was alone in a field that stretched +unbroken to the circling sky-line.</p> + +<p>Not until noon did the runaway black scent water. Half mad with thirst +he dashed to the edge of a muddy little stream and sucked down a great +draught.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">192</a></span> As he raised his head he saw standing poised above him on the +opposite bank, with ears laid menacingly flat and nostrils aquiver in +nervous palpitation, a buckskin-colored stallion.</p> + +<p>Snorting from fright the black wheeled and ran. He heard behind him a +shrill neigh of challenge and in a moment the thunder of many hoofs. +Looking back he saw fully a score of horses, the buckskin stallion in +the van, charging after him. That was enough. Filling his great lungs +with air he leaped into such a burst of speed that his pursuers soon +tired of the hopeless chase. Finding that he was no longer followed the +black grew curious. Galloping in a circle he gradually approached the +band. The horses had settled down to the cropping of buffalo grass, only +the buckskin stallion, who had taken a position on a little knoll, +remaining on guard.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">193</a></span></p> + +<p>The surprising thing about this band was that each and every member +seemed riderless. Not until he had taken long up-wind sniffs was the +thoroughbred convinced of this fact. When certain on this point he +cantered toward the band, sniffing inquiringly. Again the buckskin +stallion charged, ears back, eyes gleaming wickedly and snorting +defiantly. This time the black stood his ground until the buckskin's +teeth snapped savagely within a few inches of his throat. Just in time +did he rear and swerve. Twice more—for the paddock-raised black was +slow to understand such behavior—the buckskin charged. Then the black +was roused into aggressiveness.</p> + +<p>There ensued such a battle as would have brought delight to the brute +soul of a Nero. With fore-feet and teeth the two stallions engaged, +circling madly about on their hind legs, tearing up great clods<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">194</a></span> of +turf, biting and striking as opportunity offered. At last, by a quick, +desperate rush, the buckskin caught the thoroughbred fairly by the +throat. Here the affair would have ended had not the black stallion, +rearing suddenly on his muscle-ridged haunches and lifting his +opponent's forequarters clear of the ground, showered on his enemy such +a rain of blows from his iron-shod feet that the wild buckskin dropped +to the ground, dazed and vanquished.</p> + +<p>Standing over him, with all the fierce pride of a victorious gladiator +showing in every curve of his glistening body, the black thoroughbred +trumpeted out a stentorian call of defiance and command. The band, that +had watched the struggle from a discreet distance, now came galloping +in, whinnying in friendly fashion.</p> + +<p>Black Eagle had won his first fight. He had won the leadership. By right +of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">195</a></span> might he was now chief of this free company of plains rangers. It +was for him to lead whither he chose, to pick the place and hour of +grazing, the time for watering, and his to guard his companions from all +dangers.</p> + +<p>As for the buckskin stallion, there remained for him the choice of +humbly following the new leader or of limping off alone to try to raise +a new band. Being a worthy descendant of the chargers which the men of +Cortez rode so fearlessly into the wilds of the New World he chose the +latter course, and, having regained his senses, galloped stiffly toward +the north, his bruised head lowered in defeat.</p> + +<p>Some months later Arizona stockmen began to hear tales of a great band +of wild horses, led by a magnificent black stallion which was fleeter +than a scared coyote. There came reports of much mischief. Cattle were +stampeded by day, calves<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">196</a></span> trampled to death, and steers scattered far +and wide over the prairie. By night bunches of tethered cow ponies +disappeared. The exasperated cowboys could only tell that suddenly out +of the darkness had swept down on their quiet camps an avalanche of wild +horses. And generally they caught glimpses of a great black branded +stallion who led the marauders at such a pace that he seemed almost to +fly through the air.</p> + +<p>This stallion came to be known as Black Eagle, and to be thoroughly +feared and hated from one end of the cattle country to the other. The +Bar L ranch appeared to be the heaviest loser. Time after time were its +picketed mares run off, again and again were the Bar L herds scattered +by the dash of this mysterious band. Was it that Black Eagle could take +revenge? Cattlemen have queer notions. They put a price on his head. It +was worth six<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">197</a></span> months wages to any cowboy who might kill or capture +Black Eagle.</p> + +<p>About this time Lefty, the silent man of the Bar L outfit, disappeared. +Weeks went by and still the branded stallion remained free and unhurt, +for no cow horse in all the West could keep him in sight half an hour.</p> + +<p>Black Eagle had been the outlaw king of the ranges for nearly two years +when one day, as he was standing at lookout while the band cropped the +rich mesa grass behind him, he saw entering the cleft end of a distant +arroyo a lone cowboy mounted on a dun little pony. With quick +intelligence the stallion noted that this arroyo wound about until its +mouth gave upon the side of the mesa not a hundred yards from where he +stood.</p> + +<p>Promptly did Black Eagle act. Calling his band he led it at a sharp pace +to a sheltered hollow on the mesa's back<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">198</a></span> slope. There he left it and +hurried away to take up his former position. He had not waited long +before the cowboy, riding stealthily, reappeared at the arroyo's mouth. +Instantly the race was on. Tossing his fine head in the air and +switching haughtily his splendid tail, Black Eagle laid his course in a +direction which took him away from his sheltered band. Pounding along +behind came the cowboy, urging to utmost endeavor the tough little +mustang which he rode.</p> + +<p>Had this been simply a race it would have lasted but a short time. But +it was more than a race. It was a conflict of strategists. Black Eagle +wished to do more than merely out-distance his enemy. He meant to lead +him far away and then, under cover of night, return to his band.</p> + +<p>Also the cowboy had a purpose. Well knowing that he could neither +overtake nor tire the black stallion, he intended to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">199</a></span> ride him down by +circling. In circling, the pursuer rides toward the pursued from an +angle, gradually forcing his quarry into a circular course whose +diameter narrows with every turn.</p> + +<p>This, however, was a trick Black Eagle had long ago learned to block. +Sure of his superior speed he galloped away in a line straight as an +arrow's flight, paying no heed at all to the manner in which he was +followed. Before midnight he had rejoined his band, while far off on the +prairie was a lone cowboy moodily frying bacon over a sage-brush fire.</p> + +<p>But this pursuer was no faint heart. Late the next day he was sighted +creeping cunningly up to windward. Again there was a race, not so long +this time, for the day was far spent, but with the same result.</p> + +<p>When for the third time there came into view this same lone cowboy, +Black<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">200</a></span> Eagle was thoroughly aroused to the fact that this persistent +rider meant mischief. Having once more led the cowboy a long and +fruitless chase the great black gathered up his band and started south. +Not until noon of the next day did he halt, and then only because many +of the mares were in bad shape. For a week the band was moved on. During +intervals of rest a sharp lookout was kept. Watering places, where an +enemy might lurk, were approached only after the most careful scouting.</p> + +<p>Despite all caution, however, the cowboy finally appeared on the +horizon. Unwilling to endanger the rest of the band, and perhaps wishing +a free hand in coping with this evident Nemesis, Black Eagle cantered +boldly out to meet him. Just beyond gun range the stallion turned +sharply at right angles and sped off over the prairie.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">201</a></span></p> + +<p>There followed a curious chase. Day after day the great black led his +pursuer on, stopping now and then to graze or take water, never allowing +him to cross the danger line, but never leaving him wholly out of sight. +It was a course of many windings which Black Eagle took, now swinging +far to the west to avoid a ranch, now circling east along a water-course, +again doubling back around the base of a mesa, but in the main going +steadily northward. Up past the brown Maricopas they worked, across the +turgid Gila, skirting Lone Butte desert; up, up and on until in the +distance glistened the bald peaks of Silver range.</p> + +<p>Never before did a horse play such a dangerous game, and surely none +ever showed such finesse. Deliberately trailing behind him an enemy bent +on taking either his life or freedom, not for a moment did Black Eagle +show more than<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">202</a></span> imperative caution. At the close of each day when, by a +few miles of judicious galloping, he had fully winded the cowboy's +mount, the sagacious black would circle to the rear of his pursuer and +often, in the gloom of early night, walk recklessly near to the camp of +his enemy just for the sake of sniffing curiously. But each morning, as +the cowboy cooked his scant breakfast, he would see, standing a few +hundred rods away, Black Eagle, patiently waiting for the chase to be +resumed.</p> + +<p>Day after day was the hunted black called upon to foil a new ruse. +Sometimes it was a game of hide and seek among the buttes, and again it +was an early morning sally by the cowboy.</p> + +<p>Once during a mid-day stop the dun mustang was turned out to graze. +Black Eagle followed suit. A half mile to windward he could see the cow +pony, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">203</a></span> beside it, evidently sitting with his back toward his quarry, +the cowboy. For a half hour, perhaps, all was peace and serenity. Then, +as a cougar springing from his lair, there blazed out of the bushes on +the bank of a dry water-course to leeward a rifle shot.</p> + +<p>Black Eagle felt a shock that stretched him on the grass. There arrived +a stinging at the top of his right shoulder and a numbing sensation all +along his backbone. Madly he struggled to get on his feet, but he could +do no more than raise his fore quarters on his knees. As he did so he +saw running toward him from the bushes, coatless and hatless, his +relentless pursuer. Black Eagle had been tricked. The figure by the +distant mustang then, was only a dummy. He had been shot from ambush. +Human strategy had won.</p> + +<p>With one last desperate effort, which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">204</a></span> sent the red blood spurting from +the bullet hole in his shoulder, Black Eagle heaved himself up until he +sat on his haunches, braced by his fore-feet set wide apart.</p> + +<p>Then, just as the cowboy brought his rifle into position for the +finishing shot, the stallion threw up his handsome head, his big eyes +blazing like two stars, and looked defiantly at his enemy.</p> + +<p>Slowly, steadily the cowboy took aim at the sleek black breast behind +which beat the brave heart of the wild thoroughbred. With finger +touching the trigger he glanced over the sights and looked into those +big, bold eyes. For a full minute man and horse faced each other thus. +Then the cowboy, in an uncertain, hesitating manner, lowered his rifle. +Calmly Black Eagle waited. But the expected shot never came. Instead, +the cowboy walked cautiously toward the wounded stallion.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">205</a></span></p> + +<p>No move did Black Eagle make, no fear did he show. With a splendid +indifference worthy of a martyr he sat there, paying no more heed to his +approaching enemy than to the red stream which trickled down his +shoulder. He was helpless and knew it, but his noble courage was +unshaken. Even when the man came close enough to examine the wound and +pat the shining neck that for three years had known neither touch of +hand nor bridle-rein, the great stallion did no more than follow with +curious, steady gaze.</p> + +<p>It is an odd fact that a feral horse, although while free even wilder +and fiercer than those native to the prairies, when once returned to +captivity resumes almost instantly the traits and habits of domesticity. +So it was with Black Eagle. With no more fuss than he would have made +when he was a colt in paddock he allowed the cowboy to wash and dress +his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">206</a></span> wounded shoulder and to lead him about by the halter.</p> + +<p>By a little stream that rounded the base of a big butte, Lefty—for it +was he—made camp, and every day for a week he applied to Black Eagle's +shoulder a fresh poultice of pounded cactus leaves. In that time the big +stallion and the silent man buried distrust and hate and enmity. No +longer were they captive and captor. They came nearer to being congenial +comrades than anything else, for in the calm solitudes of the vast +plains such sentiments may thrive.</p> + +<p>So, when the wound was fully healed, the black permitted himself to be +bridled and saddled. With the cow pony following as best it might they +rode toward Santa Fé.</p> + +<p>With Black Eagle's return to the cramped quarters of peopled places +there came experiences entirely new to him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">207</a></span> Every morning he was +saddled by Lefty and ridden around a fence-enclosed course. At first he +was allowed to set his own gait, but gradually he was urged to show his +speed. This was puzzling but not a little to his liking. Also he enjoyed +the oats twice a day and the careful grooming after each canter. He +became accustomed to stall life and to the scent and voices of men about +him, although as yet he trusted none but Lefty. Ever kind and +considerate he had found Lefty. There were times, of course, when Black +Eagle longed to be again on the prairie at the head of his old band, but +the joy of circling the track almost made up for the loss of those wild +free dashes.</p> + +<p>One day when Lefty took him out Black Eagle found many other horses on +the track, while around the enclosure he saw gathered row on row of men +and women. A band was playing and flags<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">208</a></span> were snapping in the breeze. +There was a thrill of expectation in the air. Black Eagle felt it, and +as he pranced proudly down the track there was lifted a murmur of +applause and appreciation which made his nerves tingle strangely.</p> + +<p>Just how it all came about the big stallion did not fully understand at +the time. He heard a bell ring sharply, heard also the shouts of men, +and suddenly found himself flying down the course in company with a +dozen other horses and riders. They had finished half the circle before +Black Eagle fully realized that a gaunt, long-barrelled bay was not only +leading him but gaining with every leap. Tossing his black mane in the +wind, opening his bright nostrils and pointing his thin, close set ears +forward he swung into the long prairie stride which he was wont to use +when leading his wild band. A half dozen leaps brought him abreast the +gaunt<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">209</a></span> bay, and then, feeling Lefty's knees pressing his shoulders and +hearing Lefty's voice whispering words of encouragement in his ears, +Black Eagle dashed ahead to rush down through the lane of frantically +shouting spectators, winner by a half dozen lengths.</p> + +<p>That was the beginning of Black Eagle's racing career. How it +progressed, how he won races and captured purses in a seemingly endless +string of victories unmarred by a single defeat, that is part of the +turf records of the South and West.</p> + +<p>There had to be an end, of course. Owners of carefully bred running +horses took no great pleasure, you may imagine, in seeing so many rich +prizes captured by a half-wild branded stallion of no known pedigree, +and ridden by a silent, square-jawed cowboy. So they sent East for a +"ringer." He came from Chicago in a box-car with two grooms and he was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">210</a></span> +entered as an unknown, although in the betting ring the odds posted were +one to five on the stranger. Yet it was a grand race. This alleged +unknown, with a suppressed record of victories at Sheepshead, Bennings, +and The Fort, did no more than shove his long nose under the wire a bare +half head in front of Black Eagle's foam-flecked muzzle.</p> + +<p>It was sufficient. The once wild stallion knew when he was beaten. He +had done his best and he had lost. His high pride had been humbled, his +fierce spirit broken. No more did the course hold for him any pleasure, +no more could he be thrilled by the cries of spectators or urged into +his old time stride by Lefty's whispered appeals. Never again did Black +Eagle win a race.</p> + +<p>His end, however, was not wholly inglorious. Much against his will the +cowboy who had so relentlessly followed Black<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">211</a></span> Eagle half way across the +big territory of Arizona to lay him low with a rifle bullet, who had +spared his life at the last moment and who had ridden him to victory in +so many glorious races—this silent, square-jawed man had given him a +final caress and then, saying a husky good-by, had turned him over to +the owner of a great stud-farm and gone away with a thick roll of +bank-notes in his pocket and a guilty feeling in his breast.</p> + +<p>Thus it happens that to-day throughout the Southwest there are many +black-pointed fleet-footed horses in whose veins runs the blood of a +noble horse. Some of them you will find in well-guarded paddocks, while +some still roam the prairies in wild bands which are the menace of +stockmen and the vexation of cowboys. As for their sire, he is no more.</p> + +<p>This is the story of Black Eagle. Although some of the minor details +may<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">212</a></span> be open to dispute, the main points you may hear recited by any +cattleman or horse-breeder west of Omaha. For Black Eagle really lived +and, as perhaps you will agree, lived not in vain.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="BONFIRE" id="BONFIRE"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">213</a></span> +<h2>BONFIRE</h2><h3>BROKEN FOR THE HOUSE OF JERRY</h3> +</div> + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">215</a></span>Down +in Maine or up in Vermont, anywhere, in fact, save on a fancy +stud-farm, his color would have passed for sorrel. Being a high-bred +hackney, and the pick of the Sir Bardolph three-year-olds, he was put +down as a strawberry roan. Also he was the pride of Lochlynne.</p> + +<p>"'Osses, women, and the weather, sir, ain't to be depended on; but, +barrin' haccidents, that 'ere Bonfire'll fetch us a ribbon if any does, +sir." Hawkins, the stud-groom, made this prophecy, not in haste or out +of hand, but as one who has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">216</a></span> a reputation to maintain and who speaks by +the card.</p> + +<p>So the word was passed among the under-grooms and stable-boys that +Bonfire was the best of the Sir Bardolph get, and that he was going to +the Garden for the honor and profit of the farm.</p> + +<p>Well, Bonfire had come to the Garden. He had been there two days. It was +within a few hours of the time when the hackneys were to take the +ring—and look at him! His eyes were dull, his head was down, his +nostrils wept, his legs trembled.</p> + +<p>About his stall was gathered a little group of discouraged men and boys +who spoke in low tones and gazed gloomily through the murky atmosphere +at the blanket-swathed, hooded figure that seemed about to collapse on +the straw.</p> + +<p>"'E ain't got no more life in 'im than a sick cat," said one. "The +Bellair folks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">217</a></span> will beat us 'oller; every one o' their blooming hentries +is as fit as fiddles."</p> + +<p>"Ain't we worked on 'im for four mortal hours?" demanded another. "Wot +more can we do?"</p> + +<p>"Send for old 'Awkins an' tell 'im, that's all."</p> + +<p>A shudder seemed to shake the group in the stall. It was clear that Mr. +Hawkins would be displeased, and that his displeasure was something to +be dreaded. Bonfire, too, was seen to shudder, but it was not from fear +of Hawkins's wrath. Little did Bonfire care just then for grooms, head +or ordinary. He shuddered because of certain aches that dwelt within +him.</p> + +<p>In his stomach was a queer feeling which he did not at all understand. +In his head was a dizziness which made him wish that the stall would not +move about so. Streaks of pain shot along his backbone<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">218</a></span> and slid down +his legs. Hot and cold flashes swept over his body. For Bonfire had a +bad case of car-sickness—a malady differing from sea-sickness largely +in name only—also a well-developed cold complicated by nervous +indigestion.</p> + +<p>Tuned to the key, he had left the home stables. Then they had led him +into that box on wheels and the trouble had begun. Men shouted, bells +clanged, whistles shrieked. Bonfire felt the box start with a jerk, and, +thumping, rumbling, jolting, swaying, move somewhere off into the night.</p> + +<p>In an agony of apprehension—neck stretched, eyes staring, ears pointed, +nostrils quivering, legs stiffened, Bonfire waited for the end. But of +end there seemed to be none. Shock after shock Bonfire withstood, and +still found himself waiting. What it all meant he could not guess. There +were the other horses that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">219</a></span> had been taken with him into the box, some +placidly munching hay, others looking curiously about. There were the +familiar grooms who talked soothingly in his ear and patted his neck in +vain. The terror of the thing, this being whirled noisily away in a box, +had struck deep into Bonfire's brain, and he could not get it out. So he +stood for many hours, neither eating nor sleeping, listening to the +noises, feeling the motion, and trembling as one with ague.</p> + +<p>Of course it was absurd for Bonfire to go to pieces in that fashion. You +can ship a Missouri Modoc around the world and he will finish almost as +sound as he started. But Bonfire had blood and breeding and a pedigree +which went back to Lady Alice of Burn Brae, Yorkshire.</p> + +<p>His coltdom had been a sort of hothouse existence; for Lochlynne, you +know, is the toy of a Pennsylvania coal<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">220</a></span> baron, who breeds hackneys, not +for profit, but for the joy there is in it; just as other men grow +orchids and build cup defenders. At the Lochlynne stables they turn on +the steam heat in November. On rainy days you are exercised in a +glass-roofed tanbark ring, and hour after hour you are handled over +deep straw to improve your action. You breathe outdoor air only in +high-fenced grass paddocks around which you are driven in surcingle rig +by a Cockney groom imported with the pigskin saddles and British +condition powders. From the day your name is written in the stud-book +until you leave, you have balanced feed, all-wool blankets, +fly-nettings, and coddling that never ceases. Yet this is the method +that rounds you into perfect hackney form.</p> + +<p>All this had been done for Bonfire and with apparent success, but a few +hours of railroad travel had left him with a set of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">221</a></span> nerves as tensely +strung as those of a high-school girl on graduation-day. That is why a +draught of cold air had chilled him to the bone; that is why, after +reaching the Garden, he had gone as limp as a cut rose at a ball.</p> + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>Hawkins, who had jumped into his clothes and hurried to the scene from a +nearby hotel, behaved disappointingly. He cursed no one, he did not even +kick a stable boy. He just peeled to his undershirt and went to work. He +stripped blankets and hood from the wretched Bonfire, grabbed a bunch of +straw in either hand and began to rub. It was no chamois polishing. It +was a raking, scraping, rib-bending rub, applied with all the force in +Hawkins's sinewy arms. It sent the sluggish blood pounding through<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">222</a></span> +every artery of Bonfire's congested system and it made the perspiration +ooze from the red face of Hawkins.</p> + +<p>At the end of forty minutes' work Bonfire half believed he had been +skinned alive. But he had stopped trembling and he held up his head. +Next he saw Hawkins shaking something in a thick, long-necked bottle. +Suddenly two grooms held Bonfire's jaws apart while Hawkins poured a +liquid down his throat. It was fiery stuff that seemed to burn its way, +and its immediate effect was to revive Bonfire's appetite.</p> + +<p>Hour after hour Hawkins worked and watched the son of Sir Bardolph, and +when the get-ready bell sounded he remarked:</p> + +<p>"Now, blarst you, we'll see if you're goin' to go to heverlastin' smash +in the ring. Tommy, dig out a pair o' them burrs."</p> + +<p>Not until he reached the tanbark did Bonfire understand what burrs +were.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">223</a></span> Then, as a rein was pulled, he felt a hundred sharp points +pricking the sensitive skin around his mouth. With a bound he leaped +into the ring.</p> + +<p>It was a very pretty sight presented to the horse experts lining the +rail and to persons in boxes and tier seats. They saw a blockily built +strawberry roan, his chiselled neck arched in a perfect crest, his rigid +thigh muscles rippling under a shiny coat as he swung his hocks, his +slim forelegs sweeping up and out, and every curve of his rounded body, +from the tip of his absurd whisk-broom tail to the white snip on the end +of his tossing nose, expressing that exuberance of spirits, that jaunty +abandon of motion which is the very apex of hackney style. Behind him a +short-legged groom bounced through the air at the end of the reins, +keeping his feet only by means of most amazing strides.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">224</a></span></p> + +<p>It was a woman in one of the promenade boxes, a young woman wearing a +stunning gown and a preposterous picture-hat, who started the applause. +Her hand-clapping was echoed all around the rail, was taken up in the +boxes and finally woke a rattling chorus from the crowded tiers above. +The three judges, men with whips and long-tailed coats, looked earnestly +at the strawberry roan.</p> + +<p>Bonfire heard, too, but vaguely. There was a ringing in his ears. +Flashes of light half blinded his eyes. The concoction from the +long-necked bottle was doing its work. Also the jaw-stinging burrs kept +his mind busy. On he danced in a mad effort to escape the pain, and only +by careful man[oe]uvring could the grooms get him to stand still long +enough for the judges to use the tape.</p> + +<p>And when it was all over, after the judges had grouped and regrouped +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">225</a></span> entries, compared figures and whispered in the ring centre; out of +sheer defiance to the preference of the spectators they gave the blue to +a chestnut filly with black points—at which the tier seats hissed +mightily—and tied a red ribbon to Bonfire's bridle. Thereupon the +strawberry roan, who had looked fit for a girthsling three hours before, +tossed his head and pranced daintily out of the arena amid a ringing +round of applause.</p> + +<p>Hardly had Bonfire's docked tail disappeared before the woman in the +stunning gown turned eagerly to a man beside her and asked, "Can't I +have him, Jerry? He'll be such a perfect cross-mate for Topsy. Please, +now."</p> + +<p>To be sure Jerry grumbled some, but inside of a quarter of an hour he +had found Hawkins and paid the price; a price worthy of Sir Bardolph and +quite in keeping with Lochlynne reckonings.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">226</a></span></p> + +<p>"'E's been car sick an' show sick," said Hawkins warningly, "an' it'll +be a good two weeks afore 'e's in proper condition, sir; but you'll find +'im as neat a bit of 'oss flesh as you hever owned, sir."</p> + +<p>Nor was Hawkins wrong. When the burrs were taken off and the effect of +the doses from the long-necked bottle had died out, Bonfire looked +anything but a ribbon-getter. Luckily Mr. Jerry had a coachman who knew +his business. Dan was his name, County Antrim his birthplace. He fed +Bonfire hot mixtures, he rubbed, he nursed, until he had coaxed the cold +out and had quieted the jangled nerves. Then, one crisp December +morning, Bonfire, once more in the pink of condition, was hooked up with +Topsy to the pole of a shining, rubber-tired brougham and taken around +to make the acquaintance of Mrs. Jerry.</p> + +<p>"Oh, isn't he a beauty, Dan!" squealed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">227</a></span> Mrs. Jerry delightedly, as +Bonfire danced up to the curb. "Isn't he?"</p> + +<p>Dan, trained to silence, touched his hat. Mrs. Jerry patted Bonfire's +rounded quarter, tried to rub his impatient nose and squandered on him a +bewildering variety of superlatives. Then she was handed to her seat, +the footman swung up beside Dan, the reins were slackened and away they +whirled toward the Park, stepping as if they were going over hurdles.</p> + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>For three years Bonfire had been in leather and he had found the life +far different from the dull routine of coddling that he had known at the +Lochlynne Farm. There was little monotony about it, for the Jerrys were +no stay-at-homes. Of his oak-finished stable, with its sanded<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">228</a></span> floors +and plaited straw stall-mats, Bonfire saw almost as little as did Mrs. +Jerry of her white and gold rooms on the Avenue.</p> + +<p>In the morning it would be a trip down town, where Topsy and Bonfire +would wait before the big stores, watching the traffic and people, until +Mrs. Jerry reappeared. After luncheon they generally took her through +the Park or up and down the Avenue to teas and receptions. In the +evening they were often harnessed again to take Mr. and Mrs. Jerry to +dinner, theatre, or ball. Late at night they might be turned out to +fetch them home.</p> + +<p>What long, cold waits they had, standing in line sometimes for hours, +stamping their hoofs and shivering under heavy blankets; for a stylish +hackney, you know, must be kept closely clipped, no matter what the +weather. Why, even Dan, muffled in his big coat and bear-skin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">229</a></span> +shoulder-cape, was half frozen. But Dan could leave the footman on the +box and go to warm himself in the glittering corner saloons, and when he +came back it would be the footman's turn. For Topsy and Bonfire there +was no such relief. Chilled, tired, and hungry, they must stamp and wait +until at last, far down the street, could be heard the shouting of the +strong-lunged carriage-caller. When Dan got his number they were quite +ready for the homeward dash.</p> + +<p>Seeing them come down the street, heads tossing, pole-chains jingling, +the crest and monogram of the house of Jerry glistening on quarter cloth +and rosette, their polished hoofs seeming barely to touch the asphalt, +you might have thought their lot one to be envied. But Bonfire and Topsy +knew better.</p> + +<p>It was altogether too heavy work for high-bred hackneys, of course. Mr. +Jerry<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">230</a></span> pointed this out, but to no use. Mrs. Jerry asked pertinently +what good horses were for if not to be used. No, she wanted no livery +teams for the night work. When she rode she wished to ride behind Topsy +and Bonfire. They were her horses, anyway. She would do as she pleased. +And she did.</p> + +<p>Summer brought neither rest nor relief. Early in July horses, servants, +and carriages would be shipped off to Newport or Saratoga, there to +begin again the unceasing whirl. And fly time, to a docktailed horse, is +a season of torment.</p> + +<p>Of Mrs. Jerry, who had once roused the Garden for his sake, Bonfire +caught but glimpses. After that first day, when he was a novelty, he +heard no more compliments, received no more pats from her gloved hands. +But of slight or neglect Bonfire knew nothing. He curved his neck and +threw his hoofs high, whether his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">231</a></span> muscles ached or no; in winter he +stamped to keep warm, in summer to dislodge the flies; he did his work +faithfully, early or late, in cold and in heat; and all this because he +was a son of Sir Bardolph and for the reason that it was his nature to. +Had it been put upon him he would have worked in harness until he +dropped, prancing his best to the last.</p> + +<p>No supreme test, however, was ever brought to the endurance and +willingness of Bonfire. They just kept him on the pole, nerves tense, +muscles strained, until he began to lose form. His action no longer had +that grace and abandon which so pleased Mrs. Jerry when she first saw +him. Long standing in the cold numbs the muscles. It robs the legs of +their spring. Sudden starts, such as are made when you are called from +line after an hour's waiting, finish the business. Try as he might, +Bonfire could not step so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">232</a></span> high, could not carry a perfect crest. His +neck had lost its roundness, in his rump a crease had appeared.</p> + +<p>To Dan also, came tribulation of his own making. He carried a flat brown +flask under the box and there were times when his driving was more a +matter of muscular habit than of mental acuteness. Twice he was +threatened with discharge and twice he solemnly promised reform. At last +the inevitable happened. Dan came one morning to Bonfire's stall, very +sober and very sad. He patted Bonfire and said good-by. Then he +disappeared.</p> + +<p>Less than a week later two young hackneys, plump of neck, round of +quarter, springy of knee and hock, were brought to the stable. Bonfire +and Topsy were led out of their old stalls to return no more. They had +been worn out in the service and cast aside like a pair of old gloves.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">233</a></span></p> + +<p>Then did Bonfire enter upon a period of existence in which box-stalls, +crested quarter blankets, rubber-tired wheels and liveried drivers had +no part. It was a varied existence, filled with toil and hardship and +abuse; an existence for which the coddling one gets at Lochlynne Farm is +no fit preparation.</p> + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>Just where Broadway crosses Sixth Avenue at Thirty-third Street is to be +found a dingy, triangular little park plot in which a few gas-stunted, +smoke-stained trees make a brave attempt to keep alive. On two sides of +the triangle surface-cars whirl restlessly, while overhead the elevated +trains rattle and shriek. This part of the metropolis knows little +difference between day and night, for the cars never<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">234</a></span> cease, the +arc-lights blaze from dusk until dawn and the pavements are never wholly +empty.</p> + +<p>Locally the section is sometimes called "the Cabman's Graveyard." During +any hour of the twenty-four you may find waiting along the curb a line +of public carriages. By day you will sometimes see smartly kept hansoms, +well-groomed horses, and drivers in neat livery.</p> + +<p>But at night the character of the line changes. The carriages are mostly +one-horse closed cabs, rickety as to wheels, with torn and faded +cushions, license numbers obscured by various devices and rate-cards +always missing. The horses are dilapidated, too; and the drivers, whom +you will generally find nodding on the box or sound asleep inside their +cabs, harmonize with their rigs.</p> + +<p>These are the Nighthawkers of the Tenderloin. The name is not an +assuring<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">235</a></span> one, but it is suspected that it has been aptly given.</p> + +<p>One bleak midnight in late November a cab of this description waited in +the lee of the elevated stairs. The cab itself was weather-beaten, +scratched, and battered. The driver, who sat half inside and half +outside the vehicle, with his feet on the sidewalk and his back propped +against the seat-cushion, puffed a short pipe and watched with indolent +but discriminating eye those who passed. He wore a coachman's coat of +faded green which seemed to have acquired a stain for every button it +had lost. On his head sat jauntily a rusty beaver and his face, +especially the nose, was of a rich crimson hue.</p> + +<p>The horse, that seemed to lean on rather than stand in the patched +shafts, showed many well-defined points and but few curves. His thin +neck was ewed, there were deep hollows over the eyes,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">236</a></span> the number of his +ribs was revealed with startling frankness and the sagging of one +hind-quarter betrayed a bad leg. His head he held in spiritless fashion +on a level with his knees. As if to add a note of irony, his tail had +been docked to the regulation of absurd brevity and served only to tag +him as one fallen from a more reputable state.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, up and across the intersecting thoroughfares, with a sharp +clatter of hoofs, rolled a smart closed brougham. The dispirited bobtail +looked up as a well-mated pair pranced past. Perhaps he noted their +sleek quarters, the glittering trappings on their backs and their +gingery action. As he dropped his head again something very like a sigh +escaped him. It might have been regret, perhaps it was only a touch of +influenza.</p> + +<p>The driver, too, saw the turnout and gazed after it. But he did not +sigh. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">237</a></span> puffed away at his pipe as if entirely satisfied with his lot. +He was still watching the brougham when a surface-car came gliding +swiftly around a curve. There was a smash of splintering wood and +breaking glass. The car had struck the brougham a battering-ram blow, +crushing a rear wheel and snapping the steel axle at the hub.</p> + +<p>From somewhere or other a crowd of curious persons appeared and circled +about to watch while the driver held the plunging horses and the footman +hauled from the overturned carriage a man and a woman in evening dress. +The couple seemed unhurt and, although somewhat rumpled as to attire, +remarkably unconcerned.</p> + +<p>"Keb, sir! Have a keb, sir?"</p> + +<p>The Nighthawker was on the scene, like a longshore wrecker, and waving +an inviting arm toward his shabby vehicle.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">238</a></span></p> + +<p>The man coolly restored to shape his misused opera hat, adjusted his +necktie, whispered some orders to his coachman and then asked of the +Nighthawker: "Where's your carriage, my man?"</p> + +<p>Eagerly the green-coated cabby led the way until the rescued couple +stood before it. The woman inspected the battered vehicle doubtfully +before stepping inside. The man eyed the sorry nag for a moment and then +said, with a laugh: "Good frame you have there; got the parts all +numbered?"</p> + +<p>But the Nighthawker was not sensitive. The intimation that his horse +might fall apart he answered only with a good-natured chuckle and asked: +"Where shall it be; home, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Why, yes, drive us to number——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, we know the house well enough, sir, Bonfire and me."</p> + +<p>"Bonfire! Bonfire, did you say?" Incredulously<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">239</a></span> the fare looked first at +the horse and then at the driver. "Why, 'pon my word, it's old Dan! And +this relic in the shafts is Bonfire, is it?"</p> + +<p>"It's him, sir; leastways, all there's left of him."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll be hanged! Kitty! Kitty!" he shouted into the cab where my +lady was nervously pulling her skirts closer about her and sniffing the +tobacco-laden atmosphere with evident disapproval. "Here's Dan, our old +coachman."</p> + +<p>"Really?" was the unenthusiastic reply from the cab.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and he's driving Bonfire. You remember Bonfire, the hackney I +bought for you at the Garden the year we were married."</p> + +<p>"Indeed? Why, how odd? But do come in, Jerry, and let's get on home. I'm +so-o-o-o tired."</p> + +<p>Mr. Jerry stifled his sentiment and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">240</a></span> shut the cab-door with a bang. Dan +pulled Bonfire's head into position and lightly laid the whip over the +all too obvious ribs. Bonfire, his head bobbing ludicrously on his thin +neck and his stubby tail keeping time at the other end of him, moved +uncertainly up the avenue at a jerky hobble.</p> + +<p>And there let us leave him. Poor old Bonfire! Bred to win a ribbon at +the Garden—ended as the drudge of a Tenderloin Nighthawker.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="PASHA" id="PASHA"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">241</a></span> +<h2>PASHA</h2><h3>THE SON OF SELIM</h3> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">243</a></span>Long, +far too long, has the story of Pasha, son of Selim, remained +untold.</p> + +<p>The great Selim, you know, was brought from far across the seas, where +he had been sold for a heavy purse by a venerable sheik, who tore his +beard during the bargain and swore by Allah that without Selim there +would be for him no joy in life. Also he had wept quite convincingly on +Selim's neck—but he finished by taking the heavy purse. That was how +Selim, the great Selim, came to end<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">244</a></span> his days in Fayette County, +Kentucky. Of his many sons, Pasha was one.</p> + +<p>In almost idyllic manner were spent the years of Pasha's coltdom. They +were years of pasture roaming and bluegrass cropping. When the time was +ripe, began the hunting lessons. Pasha came to know the feel of the +saddle and the voice of the hounds. He was taught the long, easy lope. +He learned how to gather himself for a sail through the air over a +hurdle or a water-jump. Then, when he could take five bars clean, when +he could clear an eight-foot ditch, when his wind was so sound that he +could lead the chase from dawn until high noon, he was sent to the +stables of a Virginia tobacco-planter who had need of a new hunter and +who could afford Arab blood.</p> + +<p>In the stalls at Gray Oaks stables were many good hunters, but none +better than Pasha. Cream-white he was, from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">245</a></span> tip of his splendid, +yard-long tail to his pink-lipped muzzle. His coat was as silk plush, +his neck as supple as a swan's, and out of his big, bright eyes there +looked such intelligence that one half expected him to speak. His lines +were all long, graceful curves, and when he danced daintily on his +slender legs one could see the muscles flex under the delicate skin.</p> + +<p>Miss Lou claimed Pasha for her very own at first sight. As no one at +Gray Oaks denied Miss Lou anything at all, to her he belonged from that +instant. Of Miss Lou, Pasha approved thoroughly. She knew that +bridle-reins were for gentle guidance, not for sawing or jerking, and +that a riding-crop was of no use whatever save to unlatch a gate or to +cut at an unruly hound. She knew how to rise on the stirrup when Pasha +lifted himself in his stride, and how to settle close to the pigskin +when his hoofs hit the ground.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">246</a></span> In other words, she had a good seat, +which means as much to the horse as it does to the rider.</p> + +<p>Besides all this, it was Miss Lou who insisted that Pasha should have +the best of grooming, and she never forgot to bring the dainties which +Pasha loved, an apple or a carrot or a sugar-plum. It is something, too, +to have your nose patted by a soft gloved hand and to have such a person +as Miss Lou put her arm around your neck and whisper in your ear. From +no other than Miss Lou would Pasha permit such intimacy.</p> + +<p>No paragon, however, was Pasha. He had a temper, and his whims were as +many as those of a school-girl. He was particular as to who put on his +bridle. He had notions concerning the manner in which a curry-comb should +be used. A red ribbon or a bandanna handkerchief put him in a rage, +while green, the holy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">247</a></span> color of the Mohammedan, soothed his nerves. A +lively pair of heels he had, and he knew how to use his teeth. The black +stable-boys found that out, and so did the stern-faced man who was known +as "Mars" Clayton. This "Mars" Clayton had ridden Pasha once, had ridden +him as he rode his big, ugly, hard-bitted roan hunter, and Pasha had not +enjoyed the ride. Still, Miss Lou and Pasha often rode out with "Mars" +Clayton and the parrot-nosed roan. That is, they did until the coming of +Mr. Dave.</p> + +<p>In Mr. Dave, Pasha found a new friend. From a far Northern State was Mr. +Dave. He had come in a ship to buy tobacco, but after he had bought his +cargo he still stayed at Gray Oaks, "to complete Pasha's education," so +he said.</p> + +<p>Many ways had Mr. Dave which Pasha liked. He had a gentle manner of +talking to you, of smoothing your flanks and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">248</a></span> rubbing your ears, which +gained your confidence and made you sure that he understood. He was firm +and sure in giving commands, yet so patient in teaching one tricks, that +it was a pleasure to learn.</p> + +<p>So, almost before Pasha knew it, he could stand on his hind legs, could +step around in a circle in time to a tune which Mr. Dave whistled, and +could do other things which few horses ever learn to do. His chief +accomplishment, however, was to kneel on his forelegs in the attitude of +prayer. A long time it took Pasha to learn this, but Mr. Dave told him +over and over again, by word and sign, until at last the son of the +great Selim could strike a pose such as would have done credit to a +Mecca pilgrim.</p> + +<p>"It's simply wonderful!" declared Miss Lou.</p> + +<p>But it was nothing of the sort. Mr.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">249</a></span> Dave had been teaching tricks to +horses ever since he was a small boy, and never had he found such an apt +pupil as Pasha.</p> + +<p>Many a glorious gallop did Pasha and Miss Lou have while Mr. Dave stayed +at Gray Oaks, Dave riding the big bay gelding that Miss Lou, with all +her daring, had never ventured to mount. It was not all galloping +though, for Pasha and the big bay often walked for miles through the +wood lanes, side by side and very close together, while Miss Lou and Mr. +Dave talked, talked, talked. How they could ever find so much to say to +each other Pasha wondered.</p> + +<p>But at last Mr. Dave went away, and with his going ended good times for +Pasha, at least for many months. There followed strange doings. There +was much excitement among the stable-boys, much riding about, day and +night, by the men of Gray Oaks, and no hunting at all.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">250</a></span> One day the +stables were cleared of all horses save Pasha.</p> + +<p>"Some time, if he is needed badly, you may have Pasha, but not now," +Miss Lou had said. And then she had hidden her face in his cream-white +mane and sobbed. Just what the trouble was Pasha did not understand, but +he was certain "Mars" Clayton was at the bottom of it.</p> + +<p>No longer did Miss Lou ride about the country. Occasionally she galloped +up and down the highway, to the Pointdexters and back, just to let Pasha +stretch his legs. Queer sights Pasha saw on these trips. Sometimes he +would pass many men on horses riding close together in a pack, as the +hounds run when they have the scent. They wore strange clothing, did +these men, and they carried, instead of riding-crops, big shiny knives +that swung at their sides. The sight of them set Pasha's nerves +tingling. He would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">251</a></span> sniff curiously after them and then prick forward +his ears and dance nervously.</p> + +<p>Of course Pasha knew that something unusual was going on, but what it +was he could not guess. There came a time, however, when he found out +all about it. Months had passed when, late one night, a hard-breathing, +foam-splotched, mud-covered horse was ridden into the yard and taken +into the almost deserted stable. Pasha heard the harsh voice of "Mars" +Clayton swearing at the stable-boys. Pasha heard his own name spoken, +and guessed that it was he who was wanted. Next came Miss Lou to the +stable.</p> + +<p>"I'm very sorry," he heard "Mars" Clayton say, "but I've got to get out +of this. The Yanks are not more than five miles behind."</p> + +<p>"But you'll take good care of him, won't you?" he heard Miss Lou ask +eagerly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">252</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, yes; of course," replied "Mars" Clayton, carelessly.</p> + +<p>A heavy saddle was thrown on Pasha's back, the girths pulled cruelly +tight, and in a moment "Mars" Clayton was on his back. They were barely +clear of Gray Oaks driveway before Pasha felt something he had never +known before. It was as if someone had jabbed a lot of little knives +into his ribs. Roused by pain and fright, Pasha reared in a wild attempt +to unseat this hateful rider. But "Mars" Clayton's knees seemed glued to +Pasha's shoulders. Next Pasha tried to shake him off by sudden leaps, +side-bolts, and stiff-legged jumps. These man[oe]uvres brought vicious +jerks on the wicked chain-bit that was cutting Pasha's tender mouth +sorrily and more jabs from the little knives. In this way did Pasha +fight until his sides ran with blood and his breast was plastered thick +with reddened foam.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">253</a></span></p> + +<p>In the meantime he had covered miles of road, and at last, along in the +cold gray of the morning, he was ridden into a field where were many +tents and horses. Pasha was unsaddled and picketed to a stake. This +latter indignity he was too much exhausted to resent. All he could do +was to stand, shivering with cold, trembling from nervous excitement, +and wait for what was to happen next.</p> + +<p>It seemed ages before anything did happen. The beginning was a tripping +bugle-blast. This was answered by the voice of other bugles blown here +and there about the field. In a moment men began to tumble out of the +white tents. They came by twos and threes and dozens, until the field +was full of them. Fires were built on the ground, and soon Pasha could +scent coffee boiling and bacon frying. Black boys began moving about +among the horses with hay and oats and water.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">254</a></span> One of them rubbed Pasha +hurriedly with a wisp of straw. It was little like the currying and +rubbing with brush and comb and flannel to which he was accustomed and +which he needed just then, oh, how sadly. His strained muscles had +stiffened so much that every movement gave him pain. So matted was his +coat with sweat and foam and mud that it seemed as if half the pores of +his skin were choked.</p> + +<p>He had cooled his parched throat with a long draught of somewhat muddy +water, but he had eaten only half of the armful of hay when again the +bugles sounded and "Mars" Clayton appeared. Tightening the girths, until +they almost cut into Pasha's tender skin, he jumped into the saddle and +rode off to where a lot of big black horses were being reined into line. +In front of this line Pasha was wheeled. He heard the bugles sound once +more, heard his rider shout something to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">255</a></span> men behind, felt the +wicked little knives in his sides, and then, in spite of aching legs, +was forced into a sharp gallop. Although he knew it not, Pasha had +joined the Black Horse Cavalry.</p> + +<p>The months that followed were to Pasha one long, ugly dream. Not that he +minded the hard riding by day and night. In time he became used to all +that. He could even endure the irregular feeding, the sleeping in the +open during all kinds of weather, and the lack of proper grooming. But +the vicious jerks on the torture-provoking cavalry bit, the flat sabre +blows on the flank which he not infrequently got from his ill-tempered +master, and, above all, the cruel digs of the spur-wheels—these things +he could not understand. Such treatment he was sure he did not merit. +"Mars" Clayton he came to hate more and more. Some day, Pasha told +himself, he would take<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">256</a></span> vengeance with teeth and heels, even if he died +for it.</p> + +<p>In the meantime he had learned the cavalry drill. He came to know the +meaning of each varying bugle-call, from reveille, when one began to paw +and stamp for breakfast, to mournful taps, when lights went out, and the +tents became dark and silent. Also, one learned to slow from a gallop +into a walk; when to wheel to the right or to the left, and when to +start on the jump as the first notes of a charge were sounded. It was +better to learn the bugle-calls, he found, than to wait for a jerk on +the bits or a prod from the spurs.</p> + +<p>No more was he terror-stricken, as he had been on his first day in the +cavalry, at hearing behind him the thunder of many hoofs. Having once +become used to the noise, he was even thrilled by the swinging metre of +it. A kind of wild<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">257</a></span> harmony was in it, something which made one forget +everything else. At such times Pasha longed to break into his long, +wind-splitting lope, but he learned that he must leave the others no +more than a pace or two behind, although he could have easily +outdistanced them all.</p> + +<p>Also, Pasha learned to stand under fire. No more did he dance at the +crack of carbines or the zipp-zipp of bullets. He could even hold his +ground when shells went screaming over him, although this was hardest of +all to bear. One could not see them, but their sound, like that of great +birds in flight, was something to try one's nerves. Pasha strained his +ears to catch the note of each shell that came whizzing overhead, and, +as it passed, looked inquiringly over his shoulder as if to ask, "Now +what on earth was that?"</p> + +<p>But all this experience could not prepare<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">258</a></span> him for the happenings of +that never-to-be-forgotten day in June. There had been a period full of +hard riding and ending with a long halt. For several days hay and oats +were brought with some regularity. Pasha was even provided with an +apology for a stall. It was made by leaning two rails against a fence. +Some hay was thrown between the rails. This was a sorry substitute for +the roomy box-stall, filled with clean straw, which Pasha always had at +Gray Oaks, but it was as good as any provided for the Black Horse +Cavalry.</p> + +<p>And how many, many horses there were! As far as Pasha could see in +either direction the line extended. Never before had he seen so many +horses at one time. And men! The fields and woods were full of them; +some in brown butternut, some in homespun gray, and many in clothes +having no uniformity of color at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">259</a></span> all. "Mars" Clayton was dressed better +than most, for on his butternut coat were shiny shoulder-straps, and it +was closed with shiny buttons. Pasha took little pride in this. He knew +his master for a cruel and heartless rider, and for nothing more.</p> + +<p>One day there was a great parade, when Pasha was carefully groomed for +the first time in months. There were bands playing and flags flying. +Pasha, forgetful of his ill-treatment and prancing proudly at the head +of a squadron of coal-black horses, passed in review before a big, +bearded man wearing a slouch hat fantastically decorated with long +plumes and sitting a great black horse in the midst of a little knot of +officers.</p> + +<p>Early the next morning Pasha was awakened by the distant growl of heavy +guns. By daylight he was on the move, thousands of other horses with +him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">260</a></span> Nearer and nearer they rode to the place where the guns were +growling. Sometimes they were on roads, sometimes they crossed fields, +and again they plunged into the woods where the low branches struck +one's eyes and scratched one's flanks. At last they broke clear of the +trees to come suddenly upon such a scene as Pasha had never before +witnessed.</p> + +<p>Far across the open field he could see troop on troop of horses coming +toward him. They seemed to be pouring over the crest of a low hill, as +if driven onward by some unseen force behind. Instantly Pasha heard, +rising from the throats of thousands of riders, on either side and +behind him, that fierce, wild yell which he had come to know meant the +approach of trouble. High and shrill and menacing it rang as it was +taken up and repeated by those in the rear. Next the bugles began to +sound, and in quick obedience<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">261</a></span> the horses formed in line just on the +edge of the woods, a line which stretched and stretched on either flank +until one could hardly see where it ended.</p> + +<p>From the distant line came no answering cry, but Pasha could hear the +bugles blowing and he could see the fronts massing. Then came the order +to charge at a gallop. This set Pasha to tugging eagerly at the bit, but +for what reason he did not know. He knew only that he was part of a +great and solid line of men and horses sweeping furiously across a field +toward that other line which he had seen pouring over the hill-crest.</p> + +<p>He could scarcely see at all now. The thousands of hoofs had raised a +cloud of dust that not only enveloped the onrushing line, but rolled +before it. Nor could Pasha hear anything save the thunderous thud of +many feet. Even the shrieking of the shells was drowned. But for the +restraining<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">262</a></span> bit Pasha would have leaped forward and cleared the line. +Never had he been so stirred. The inherited memory of countless desert +raids, made by his Arab ancestors, was doing its work. For what seemed a +long time this continued, and then, in the midst of the blind and +frenzied race, there loomed out of the thick air, as if it had appeared +by magic, the opposing line.</p> + +<p>Pasha caught a glimpse of something which seemed like a heaving wall of +tossing heads and of foam-whitened necks and shoulders. Here and there +gleamed red, distended nostrils and straining eyes. Bending above was +another wall, a wall of dusty blue coats, of grim faces, and of +dust-powdered hats. Bristling above all was a threatening crest of +waving blades.</p> + +<p>What would happen when the lines met? Almost before the query was +thought there came the answer. With<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">263</a></span> an earth-jarring crash they came +together. The lines wavered back from the shock of impact and then the +whole struggle appeared to Pasha to centre about him. Of course this was +not so. But it was a fact that the most conspicuous figure in either +line had been that of the cream-white charger in the very centre of the +Black Horse regiment.</p> + +<p>For one confused moment Pasha heard about his ears the whistle and clash +of sabres, the spiteful crackle of small arms, the snorting of horses, +and the cries of men. For an instant he was wedged tightly in the +frenzied mass, and then, by one desperate leap, such as he had learned +on the hunting field, he shook himself clear.</p> + +<p>Not until some minutes later did Pasha notice that the stirrups were +dangling empty and that the bridle-rein hung loose on his neck. Then he +knew that at last he was free from "Mars" Clayton.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">264</a></span> At the same time he +felt himself seized by an overpowering dread. While conscious of a +guiding hand on the reins Pasha had abandoned himself to the fierce joy +of the charge. But now, finding himself riderless in the midst of a +horrid din, he knew not what to do, nor which way to turn. His only +impulse was to escape. But where? Lifting high his fine head and +snorting with terror he rushed about, first this way and then that, +frantically seeking a way out of this fog-filled field of dreadful +pandemonium. Now he swerved in his course to avoid a charging squad, now +he was turned aside by prone objects at sight of which he snorted +fearfully. Although the blades still rang and the carbines still spoke, +there were no more to be seen either lines or order. Here and there in +the dust-clouds scurried horses, some with riders and some without, by +twos, by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">265</a></span> fours, or in squads of twenty or more. The sound of shooting +and slashing and shouting filled the air.</p> + +<p>To Pasha it seemed an eternity that he had been tearing about the field +when he shied at the figure of a man sitting on the ground. Pasha was +about to wheel and dash away when the man called to him. Surely the +tones were familiar. With wide-open, sniffing nostrils and trembling +knees, Pasha stopped and looked hard at the man on the ground.</p> + +<p>"Pasha! Pasha!" the man called weakly. The voice sounded like that of +Mr. Dave.</p> + +<p>"Come, boy! Come, boy!" said the man in a coaxing tone, which recalled +to Pasha the lessons he had learned at Gray Oaks years before. Still +Pasha sniffed and hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Come here, Pasha, old fellow. For God's sake, come here!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">266</a></span></p> + +<p>There was no resisting this appeal. Step by step Pasha went nearer. He +continued to tremble, for this man on the ground, although his voice was +that of Mr. Dave, looked much different from the one who had taught him +tricks. Besides, there was about him the scent of fresh blood. Pasha +could see the stain of it on his blue trousers.</p> + +<p>"Come, boy. Come, Pasha," insisted the man on the ground, holding out an +encouraging hand. Slowly Pasha obeyed until he could sniff the man's +fingers. Another step and the man was smoothing his nose, still speaking +gently and coaxingly in a faint voice. In the end Pasha was assured that +the man was really the Mr. Dave of old, and glad enough Pasha was to +know it.</p> + +<p>"Now, Pasha," said Mr. Dave, "we'll see if you've forgotten your tricks, +and may the good Lord grant you haven't. Down, sir! Kneel, Pasha, +kneel!"</p> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 414px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="illus-006" id="illus-006"></a> +<img src='images/p266.jpg' alt='"Come, boy. Come, Pasha," insisted the man on the ground.' title='' width = '414' height = '504'/><br /> +<span class='caption'>"Come, boy. Come, Pasha," insisted the man on the ground.</span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">267</a></span>It had been a long time since Pasha had been asked to do this, a very +long time; but here was Mr. Dave asking him, in just the same tone as of +old, and in just the same way. So Pasha, forgetting his terror under the +soothing spell of Mr. Dave's voice, forgetting the fearful sights and +sounds about him, remembering only that here was the Mr. Dave whom he +loved, asking him to do his old trick—well, Pasha knelt.</p> + +<p>"Easy now, boy; steady!" Pasha heard him say. Mr. Dave was dragging +himself along the ground to Pasha's side. "Steady now, Pasha; steady, +boy!" He felt Mr. Dave's hand on the pommel. "So-o-o, boy; so-o-o-o!" +Slowly, oh, so slowly, he felt Mr. Dave crawling into the saddle, and +although Pasha's knees ached from the unfamiliar strain, he stirred not +a muscle until he got the command, "Up, Pasha, up!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">268</a></span></p> + +<p>Then, with a trusted hand on the bridle-rein, Pasha joyfully bounded +away through the fog, until the battle-field was left behind. Of the +long ride that ensued only Pasha knows, for Mr. Dave kept his seat in +the saddle more by force of muscular habit than anything else. A man who +has learned to sleep on horseback does not easily fall off, even though +he has not the full command of his senses. Only for the first hour or so +did Pasha's rider do much toward guiding their course. In +hunting-horses, however, the sense of direction is strong. Pasha had +it—especially for one point of the compass. This point was south. So, +unknowing of the possible peril into which he might be taking his rider, +south he went. How Pasha ever did it, as I have said, only Pasha knows; +but in the end he struck the Richmond Pike.</p> + +<div class='figcenter' style='width: 417px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;'> +<a name="illus-007" id="illus-007"></a> +<img src='images/p268.jpg' alt='Mr. Dave kept his seat in the saddle more by force of muscular habit than anything else.' title='' width = '417' height = '573'/><br /> +<span class='caption'>Mr. Dave kept his seat in the saddle more by force of muscular habit than anything else.</span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">269</a></span>It was a pleading whinny which aroused<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">270</a></span> Miss Lou at early daybreak. +Under her window she saw Pasha, and on his back a limp figure in a blue, +dust-covered, dark-stained uniform. And that was how Pasha's cavalry +career came to an end. That one fierce charge was his last.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>In the Washington home of a certain Maine Congressman you may see, hung +in a place of honor and lavishly framed, the picture of a horse. It is +very creditably done in oils, is this picture. It is of a cream-white +horse, with an arched neck, clean, slim legs, and a splendid flowing +tail.</p> + +<p>Should you have any favors of state to ask of this Maine Congressman, it +would be the wise thing, before stating your request, to say something +nice about the horse in the picture. Then the Congressman will probably +say, looking fondly at the picture: "I must tell Lou—er—my wife, you +know, what you have said. Yes, that was Pasha. He saved my neck at +Brandy Station. He was one-half Arab, Pasha was, and the other half, +sir, was human."</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Horses Nine, by Sewell Ford + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HORSES NINE *** + +***** This file should be named 19824-h.htm or 19824-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/8/2/19824/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Horses Nine + Stories of Harness and Saddle + +Author: Sewell Ford + +Release Date: November 16, 2006 [EBook #19824] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HORSES NINE *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +[Illustration: By one desperate leap he shook himself clear. (Page 263.)] + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +HORSES NINE + +STORIES OF HARNESS AND SADDLE + +BY +SEWELL FORD + +ILLUSTRATED + +NEW YORK +CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS +1905 + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Copyright, 1903, by +CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS + +Published, March, 1903 + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +TROW DIRECTORY +PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY +NEW YORK + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +CONTENTS + Page + +SKIPPER 1 +Being the Biography of a Blue-Ribboner. + +CALICO 31 +Who Travelled with a Round Top. + +OLD SILVER 67 +A Story of the Gray Horse Truck. + +BLUE BLAZES 95 +And the Marring of Him. + +CHIEFTAIN 125 +A Story of the Heavy Draught Service. + +BARNACLES 157 +Who Mutinied for Good Cause. + +BLACK EAGLE 181 +Who Once Ruled the Ranges. + +BONFIRE 215 +Broken for the House of Jerry. + +PASHA 241 +The Son of Selim. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +[Illustration] + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + +By Frederic Dorr Steele and L. Maynard Dixon + +By one desperate leap he shook himself clear Frontispiece + + FACING PAGE + +There were many heavy wagons 6 + +For many weary months Skipper pulled that crazy cart 24 + +He would do his best to steady them down to the work 130 + +Then let him snake a truck down West Street 144 + +"Come, boy. Come, Pasha," insisted the man on the ground 266 + +Mr. Dave kept his seat more by force of +muscular habit than anything else 268 + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + +SKIPPER + +BEING THE BIOGRAPHY OF A BLUE-RIBBONER + + +At the age of six Skipper went on the force. Clean of limb and sound of +wind he was, with not a blemish from the tip of his black tail to the +end of his crinkly forelock. He had been broken to saddle by a Green +Mountain boy who knew more of horse nature than of the trashy things +writ in books. He gave Skipper kind words and an occasional friendly pat +on the flank. So Skipper's disposition was sweet and his nature a +trusting one. + +This is why Skipper learned so soon the ways of the city. The first time +he saw one of those little wheeled houses, all windows and full of +people, come rushing down the street with a fearful whirr and clank of +bell, he wanted to bolt. But the man on his back spoke in an easy, calm +voice, saying, "So-o-o! There, me b'y. Aisy wid ye. So-o-o!" which was +excellent advice, for the queer contrivance whizzed by and did him no +harm. In a week he could watch one without even pricking up his ears. + +It was strange work Skipper had been brought to the city to do. As a +colt he had seen horses dragging ploughs, pulling big loads of hay, and +hitched to many kinds of vehicles. He himself had drawn a light buggy +and thought it good fun, though you did have to keep your heels down and +trot instead of canter. He had liked best to lope off with the boy on +his back, down to the Corners, where the store was. + +But here there were no ploughs, nor hay-carts, nor mowing-machines. +There were many heavy wagons, it was true, but these were all drawn by +stocky Percherons and big Western grays or stout Canada blacks who +seemed fully equal to the task. + +Also there were carriages--my, what shiny carriages! And what smart, +sleek-looking horses drew them! And how high they did hold their heads +and how they did throw their feet about--just as if they were dancing on +eggs. + +"Proud, stuck-up things," thought Skipper. + +It was clear that none of this work was for him. Early on the first +morning of his service men in brass-buttoned blue coats came to the +stable to feed and rub down the horses. Skipper's man had two names. One +was Officer Martin; at least that was the one to which he answered when +the man with the cap called the roll before they rode out for duty. The +other name was "Reddy." That was what the rest of the men in blue coats +called him. Skipper noticed that he had red hair and concluded that +"Reddy" must be his real name. + +As for Skipper's name, it was written on the tag tied to the halter +which he wore when he came to the city. Skipper heard him read it. The +boy on the farm had done that, and Skipper was glad, for he liked the +name. + +There was much to learn in those first few weeks, and Skipper learned it +quickly. He came to know that at inspection, which began the day, you +must stand with your nose just on a line with that of the horse on +either side. If you didn't you felt the bit or the spurs. He mastered +the meaning of "right dress," "left dress," "forward," "fours right," +and a lot of other things. Some of them were very strange. + +[Illustration: There were many heavy wagons.] + +Now on the farm they had said, "Whoa, boy," and "Gid a-a-ap." Here they +said, "Halt" and "Forward!" But "Reddy" used none of these terms. He +pressed with his knees on your withers, loosened the reins, and made a +queer little chirrup when he wanted you to gallop. He let you know when +he wanted you to stop, by the lightest pressure on the bit. + +It was a lazy work, though. Sometimes when Skipper was just aching for a +brisk canter he had to pace soberly through the park driveways--for +Skipper, although I don't believe I mentioned it before, was part and +parcel of the mounted police force. But there, you could know that by +the yellow letters on his saddle blanket. + +For half an hour at a time he would stand, just on the edge of the +roadway and at an exact right angle with it, motionless as the horse +ridden by the bronze soldier up near the Mall. "Reddy" would sit as +still in the saddle, too. It was hard for Skipper to stand there and see +those mincing cobs go by, their pad-housings all a-glitter, crests on +their blinders, jingling their pole-chains and switching their absurd +little stubs of tails. But it was still more tantalizing to watch the +saddle-horses canter past in the soft bridle path on the other side of +the roadway. But then, when you are on the force you must do your duty. + +One afternoon as Skipper was standing post like this he caught a new +note that rose above the hum of the park traffic. It was the quick, +nervous beat of hoofs which rang sharply on the hard macadam. There were +screams, too. It was a runaway. Skipper knew this even before he saw the +bell-like nostrils, the straining eyes, and the foam-flecked lips of +the horse, or the scared man in the carriage behind. It was a case of +broken rein. + +How the sight made Skipper's blood tingle! Wouldn't he just like to show +that crazy roan what real running was! But what was Reddy going to do? +He felt him gather up the reins. He felt his knees tighten. What! Yes, +it must be so. Reddy was actually going to try a brush with the runaway. +What fun! + +Skipper pranced out into the roadway and gathered himself for the sport. +Before he could get into full swing, however, the roan had shot past +with a snort of challenge which could not be misunderstood. + +"Oho! You will, eh?" thought Skipper. "Well now, we'll see about that." + +Ah, a free rein! That is--almost free. And a touch of the spurs! No need +for that, Reddy. How the carriages scatter! Skipper caught hasty +glimpses of smart hackneys drawn up trembling by the roadside, of women +who tumbled from bicycles into the bushes, and of men who ran and +shouted and waved their hats. + +"Just as though that little roan wasn't scared enough already," thought +Skipper. + +But she did run well; Skipper had to admit that. She had a lead of fifty +yards before he could strike his best gait. Then for a few moments he +could not seem to gain an inch. But the mare was blowing herself and +Skipper was taking it coolly. He was putting the pent-up energy of weeks +into his strides. Once he saw he was overhauling her he steadied to the +work. + +Just as Skipper was about to forge ahead, Reddy did a queer thing. With +his right hand he grabbed the roan with a nose-pinch grip, and with the +left he pulled in on the reins. It was a great disappointment to +Skipper, for he had counted on showing the roan his heels. Skipper knew, +after two or three experiences of this kind, that this was the usual +thing. + +Those were glorious runs, though. Skipper wished they would come more +often. Sometimes there would be two and even three in a day. Then a +fortnight or so would pass without a single runaway on Skipper's beat. +But duty is duty. + +During the early morning hours, when there were few people in the park, +Skipper's education progressed. He learned to pace around in a circle, +lifting each forefoot with a sway of the body and a pawing movement +which was quite rhythmical. He learned to box with his nose. He learned +to walk sedately behind Reddy and to pick up a glove, dropped apparently +by accident. There was always a sugar-plum or a sweet cracker in the +glove, which he got when Reddy stopped and Skipper, poking his nose over +his shoulder, let the glove fall into his hands. + +As he became more accomplished he noticed that "Reddy" took more pains +with his toilet. Every morning Skipper's coat was curried and brushed +and rubbed with chamois until it shone almost as if it had been +varnished. His fetlocks were carefully trimmed, a ribbon braided into +his forelock, and his hoofs polished as brightly as Reddy's boots. Then +there were apples and carrots and other delicacies which Reddy brought +him. + +So it happened that one morning Skipper heard the Sergeant tell Reddy +that he had been detailed for the Horse Show squad. Reddy had saluted +and said nothing at the time, but when they were once out on post he +told Skipper all about it. + +"Sure an' it's app'arin' before all the swells in town you'll be, me +b'y. Phat do ye think of that, eh? An' mebbe ye'll be gettin' a blue +ribbon, Skipper, me lad; an' mebbe Mr. Patrick Martin will have a +roundsman's berth an' chevrons on his sleeves afore the year's out." + +The Horse Show was all that Reddy had promised, and more. The light +almost dazzled Skipper. The sounds and the smells confused him. But he +felt Reddy on his back, heard him chirrup softly, and soon felt at ease +on the tanbark. + +Then there was a great crash of noise and Skipper, with some fifty of +his friends on the force, began to move around the circle. First it was +fours abreast, then by twos, and then a rush to troop front, when, in a +long line, they swept around as if they had been harnessed to a beam by +traces of equal length. + +After some more evolutions a half-dozen were picked out and put through +their paces. Skipper was one of these. Then three of the six were sent +to join the rest of the squad. Only Skipper and two others remained in +the centre of the ring. Men in queer clothes, wearing tall black hats, +showing much white shirt-front and carrying long whips, came and looked +them over carefully. + +Skipper showed these men how he could waltz in time to the music, and +the people who banked the circle as far up as Skipper could see shouted +and clapped their hands until it seemed as if a thunderstorm had broken +loose. At last one of the men in tall hats tied a blue ribbon on +Skipper's bridle. + +When Reddy got him into the stable, he fed him four big red apples, one +after the other. Next day Skipper knew that he was a famous horse. Reddy +showed him their pictures in the paper. + +For a whole year Skipper was the pride of the force. He was shown to +visitors at the stables. He was patted on the nose by the Mayor. The +Chief, who was a bigger man than the Mayor, came up especially to look +at him. In the park Skipper did his tricks every day for ladies in fine +dress who exclaimed, "How perfectly wonderful!" as well as for pretty +nurse-maids who giggled and said, "Now did you ever see the likes o' +that, Norah?" + +And then came the spavin. Ah, but that was the beginning of the end! +Were you ever spavined? If so, you know all about it. If you haven't, +there's no use trying to tell you. Rheumatism? Well, that may be bad; +but a spavin is worse. + +For three weeks Reddy rubbed the lump on the hock with stuff from a +brown bottle, and hid it from the inspector. Then, one black morning, +the lump was discovered. That day Skipper did not go out on post. Reddy +came into the stall, put his arm around his neck and said "Good-by" in a +voice that Skipper had never heard him use before. Something had made it +thick and husky. Very sadly Skipper saw him saddle one of the newcomers +and go out for duty. + +Before Reddy came back Skipper was led away. He was taken to a big +building where there were horses of every kind--except the right kind. +Each one had his own peculiar "out," although you couldn't always tell +what it was at first glance. + +But Skipper did not stay here long. He was led into a big ring before a +lot of men. A man on a box shouted out a number, and began to talk very +fast. Skipper gathered that he was talking about him. Skipper learned +that he was still only six years old, and that he had been owned as a +saddle-horse by a lady who was about to sail for Europe and was closing +out her stable. This was news to Skipper. He wished Reddy could hear it. + +The man talked very nicely about Skipper. He said he was kind, gentle, +sound in wind and limb, and was not only trained to the saddle but would +work either single or double. The man wanted to know how much the +gentlemen were willing to pay for a bay gelding of this description. + +Someone on the outer edge of the crowd said, "Ten dollars." + +At this the man on the box grew quite indignant. He asked if the other +man wouldn't like a silver-mounted harness and a lap-robe thrown in. + +"Fifteen," said another man. + +Somebody else said "Twenty," another man said, "Twenty-five," and still +another, "Thirty." Then there was a hitch. The man on the box began to +talk very fast indeed: + +"Thutty-thutty-thutty-thutty--do I hear the five? +Thutty-thutty-thutty-thutty--will you make it five?" + +"Thirty-five," said a red-faced man who had pushed his way to the front +and was looking Skipper over sharply. + +The man on the box said "Thutty-five" a good many times and asked if he +"heard forty." Evidently he did not, for he stopped and said very slowly +and distinctly, looking expectantly around: "Are you all done? +Thirty-five--once. Thirty-five--twice. Third--and last call--sold, for +thirty-five dollars!" + +When Skipper heard this he hung his head. When you have been a $250 +blue-ribboner and the pride of the force it is sad to be "knocked down" +for thirty-five. + +The next year of Skipper's life was a dark one. We will not linger over +it. The red-faced man who led him away was a grocer. He put Skipper in +the shafts of a heavy wagon very early every morning and drove him a +long ways through the city to a big down-town market where men in long +frocks shouted and handled boxes and barrels. When the wagon was heavily +loaded the red-faced man drove him back to the store. Then a tow-haired +boy, who jerked viciously on the lines and was fond of using the whip, +drove him recklessly about the streets and avenues. + +But one day the tow-haired boy pulled the near rein too hard while +rounding a corner and a wheel was smashed against a lamp-post. The +tow-haired boy was sent head first into an ash-barrel, and Skipper, +rather startled at the occurrence, took a little run down the avenue, +strewing the pavement with eggs, sugar, canned corn, celery, and other +assorted groceries. + +Perhaps this was why the grocer sold him. Skipper pulled a cart through +the flat-house district for a while after that. On the seat of the cart +sat a leather-lunged man who roared: "A-a-a-a-puls! Nice a-a-a-a-puls! A +who-o-ole lot fer a quarter!" + +Skipper felt this disgrace keenly. Even the cab-horses, on whom he used +to look with disdain, eyed him scornfully. Skipper stood it as long as +possible and then one day, while the apple fakir was standing on the +back step of the cart shouting things at a woman who was leaning half +way out of a fourth-story window, he bolted. He distributed that load of +apples over four blocks, much to the profit of the street children, and +he wrecked the wagon on a hydrant. For this the fakir beat him with a +piece of the wreckage until a blue-coated officer threatened to arrest +him. Next day Skipper was sold again. + +Skipper looked over his new owner without joy. The man was evil of face. +His long whiskers and hair were unkempt and sun-bleached, like the tip +end of a pastured cow's tail. His clothes were greasy. His voice was +like the grunt of a pig. Skipper wondered to what use this man would put +him. He feared the worst. + +Far up through the city the man took him and out on a broad avenue where +there were many open spaces, most of them fenced in by huge bill-boards. +Behind one of these sign-plastered barriers Skipper found his new home. +The bottom of the lot was more than twenty feet below the street-level. +In the centre of a waste of rocks, ash-heaps, and dead weeds tottered a +group of shanties, strangely made of odds and ends. The walls were +partly of mud-chinked rocks and partly of wood. The roofs were patched +with strips of rusty tin held in place by stones. + +Into one of these shanties, just tall enough for Skipper to enter and no +more, the horse that had been the pride of the mounted park police was +driven with a kick as a greeting. Skipper noted first that there was no +feed-box and no hayrack. Then he saw, or rather felt--for the only light +came through cracks in the walls--that there was no floor. His nostrils +told him that the drainage was bad. Skipper sighed as he thought of the +clean, sweet straw which Reddy used to change in his stall every night. + +But when you have a lump on your leg--a lump that throbs, throbs, throbs +with pain, whether you stand still or lie down--you do not think much on +other things. + +Supper was late in coming to Skipper that night. He was almost starved +when it was served. And such a supper! What do you think? Hay? Yes, but +marsh hay; the dry, tasteless stuff they use for bedding in cheap +stables. A ton of it wouldn't make a pound of good flesh. Oats? Not a +sign of an oat! But with the hay there were a few potato-peelings. +Skipper nosed them out and nibbled the marsh hay. The rest he pawed back +under him, for the whole had been thrown at his feet. Then he dropped on +the ill-smelling ground and went to sleep to dream that he had been +turned into a forty-acre field of clover, while a dozen brass bands +played a waltz and multitudes of people looked on and cheered. + +In the morning more salt hay was thrown to him and water was brought in +a dirty pail. Then, without a stroke of brush or curry-comb he was led +out. When he saw the wagon to which he was to be hitched Skipper hung +his head. He had reached the bottom. It was unpainted and rickety as to +body and frame, the wheels were unmated and dished, while the shafts +were spliced and wound with wire. + +But worst of all was the string of bells suspended from two uprights +above the seat. When Skipper saw these he knew he had fallen low indeed. +He had become the horse of a wandering junkman. The next step in his +career, as he well knew, would be the glue factory and the boneyard. +Now when a horse has lived for twenty years or so, it is sad enough to +face these things. But at eight years to see the glue factory close at +hand is enough to make a horse wish he had never been foaled. + +For many weary months Skipper pulled that crazy cart, with its hateful +jangle of bells, about the city streets and suburban roads while the man +with the faded hair roared through his matted beard: "Buy o-o-o-o-olt +ra-a-a-a-ags! Buy o-o-o-o-olt ra-a-a-a-ags! Olt boddles! Olt copper! Olt +iron! Vaste baber!" + +[Illustration: For many weary months Skipper pulled that crazy cart.] + +The lump on Skipper's hock kept growing bigger and bigger. It seemed as +if the darts of pain shot from hoof to flank with every step. Big +hollows came over his eyes. You could see his ribs as plainly as the +hoops on a pork-barrel. Yet six days in the week he went on long trips +and brought back heavy loads of junk. On Sunday he hauled the junkman +and his family about the city. + +Once the junkman tried to drive Skipper into one of the Park entrances. +Then for the first time in his life Skipper balked. The junkman pounded +and used such language as you might expect from a junkman, but all to no +use. Skipper took the beating with lowered head, but go through the gate +he would not. So the junkman gave it up, although he seemed very +anxious to join the line of gay carriages which were rolling in. + +Soon after this there came a break in the daily routine. One morning +Skipper was not led out as usual. In fact, no one came near him, and he +could hear no voices in the nearby shanty. Skipper decided that he +would take a day off himself. By backing against the door he readily +pushed it open, for the staple was insecure. + +Once at liberty, he climbed the roadway that led out of the lot. It was +late in the fall, but there was still short sweet winter grass to be +found along the gutters. For a while he nibbled at this hungrily. Then a +queer idea came to Skipper. Perhaps the passing of a smartly groomed +saddle-horse was responsible. + +At any rate, Skipper left off nibbling grass. He hobbled out to the edge +of the road, turned so as to face the opposite side, and held up his +head. There he stood just as he used to stand when he was the pride of +the mounted squad. He was on post once more. + +Few people were passing, and none seemed to notice him. Yet he was an +odd figure. His coat was shaggy and weather-stained. It looked patched +and faded. The spavined hock caused one hind quarter to sag somewhat, +but aside from that his pose was strictly according to the regulations. + +Skipper had been playing at standing post for a half-hour, when a +trotting dandy who sported ankle-boots and toe-weights, pulled up before +him. He was drawing a light, bicycle-wheeled road-wagon in which were +two men. + +"Queer?" one of the men was saying. "Can't say I see anything queer +about it, Captain. Some old plug that's got away from a squatter; that's +all I see in it." + +"Well, let's have a look," said the other. He stared hard at Skipper for +a moment and then, in a loud, sharp tone, said: + +"'Ten-shun! Right dress!" + +Skipper pricked up his ears, raised his head, and side-stepped stiffly. +The trotting dandy turned and looked curiously at him. + +"Forward!" said the man in the wagon. Skipper hobbled out into the road. + +"Right wheel! Halt! I thought so," said the man, as Skipper obeyed the +orders. "That fellow has been on the force. He was standing post. Looks +mighty familiar, too--white stockings on two forelegs, white star on +forehead. Now I wonder if that can be--here, hold the reins a minute." + +Going up to Skipper the man patted his nose once or twice, and then +pushed his muzzle to one side. Skipper ducked and countered. He had not +forgotten his boxing trick. The man turned his back and began to pace +down the road. Skipper followed and picked up a riding-glove which the +man dropped. + +"Doyle," said the man, as he walked back to the wagon, "two years ago +that was the finest horse on the force--took the blue ribbon at the +Garden. Alderman Martin would give $1,000 for him as he stands. He has +hunted the State for him. You remember Martin--Reddy Martin--who used to +be on the mounted squad! Didn't you hear? An old uncle who made a +fortune as a building contractor died about a year ago and left the +whole pile to Reddy. He's got a fine country place up in Westchester and +is in the city government. Just elected this fall. But he isn't happy +because he can't find his old horse--and here's the horse." + +Next day an astonished junkman stood before an empty shanty which served +as a stable and feasted his eyes on a fifty-dollar bank-note. + + * * * * * + +If you are ever up in Westchester County be sure to visit the stables of +Alderman P. Sarsfield Martin. Ask to see that oak-panelled box-stall +with the stained-glass windows and the porcelain feed-box. You will +notice a polished brass name-plate on the door bearing this inscription: + +SKIPPER. + +You may meet the Alderman himself, wearing an English-made riding-suit, +loping comfortably along on a sleek bay gelding with two white forelegs +and a white star on his forehead. Yes, high-priced veterinaries can cure +spavin--Alderman Martin says so. + + + + +CALICO + +WHO TRAVELLED WITH A ROUND TOP + + +Something there was about Calico's markings which stuck in one's mind, +as does a haunting memory, intangible but unforgotten. Surely the +pattern was obtrusive enough to halt attention; yet its vagaries were so +unexpected, so surprising that, even as you looked, you might hesitate +at declaring whether it was his withers or his flanks which were +carrot-red and if he had four white stockings or only three. It was +safer simply to say that he was white where he was not red and red where +he was not white. Moreover, his was a vivid coat. + +Altogether Calico was a horse to be remarked and to be remembered. +Yet--and again yet--Calico was not wholly to blame for his many faults. +Farm breeding, which was more or less responsible for his bizarre +appearance, should also bear the burden of his failings. As a colt he +had been the marvel of the county, from Orono to Hermon Centre. He had +been petted, teased, humored, exhibited, coddled, fooled +with--everything save properly trained and broken. + +So he grew up a trace shirker and a halter-puller, with disposition, +temperament, and general behavior as uneven as his coloring. + +"The most good-fer-nothin' animal I ever wasted grain on!" declared +Uncle Enoch. + +For the better part of four unproductive years had the life of Calico +run to commonplaces. Then, early one June morning, came an hour big +with events. Being the nigh horse in Uncle Enoch's pair, Calico caught +first glimpse of the weird procession which met them as they turned into +the Bangor road at Sherburne's Corners. + +Now it was Calico's habit to be on the watch for unusual sights, and +when he saw them to stick his ears forward, throw his head up, snort +nervously and crowd against the pole. Generally he got one leg over a +trace. There was a white bowlder at the top of Poorhouse Hill which +Calico never passed without going through some of these manoeuvres. + +"Hi-i-ish there! So-o-o! Dern yer crazy-quilt hide. Body'd think yer +never see that stun afore in yer life. Gee-long a-a-ap!" Uncle Enoch +would growl, accenting his words by jerking the lines. + +A scarecrow in the middle of a cornfield, an auction bill tacked to a +stump, an old hat stuffing a vacant pane and proclaiming the +shiftlessness of the Aroostook Billingses, would serve when nothing else +offered excuse for skittishness. Even sober Old Jeff, the off horse, +sometimes caught the infection for a moment. He would prick up his ears +and look inquiringly at the suspected object, but so soon as he saw what +it was down went his head sheepishly, as if he was ashamed of having +again been tricked. + +This morning, however, it was no false alarm. When Old Jeff was roused +out of his accustomed jog by Calico's nervous snorts he looked up to see +such a spectacle as he had never beheld in all his goings and comings up +and down the Bangor road. Looming out of the mist was a six-horse team +hitched to the most foreign-looking rig one could well imagine. It had +something of the look of a preposterous hay-cart, with the ends of +blue-painted poles sticking out in front and trailing behind. Following +this was a great, white-swathed wheeled box drawn by four horses. It was +certainly a curious affair, whatever it was, but neither Calico nor Old +Jeff gave it much heed, nor did they waste a glance on the distant tail +of the procession, for behind the wheeled box was a thing which held +their gaze. + +In the gray four o'clock light it seemed like an enormous cow that +rolled menacingly forward; not as a cow walks, however, but with a +swaying, heaving motion like nothing commonly seen on a Maine highway. +Instinctively both horses thrust their muzzles toward the thing and +sniffed. Without doubt Old Jeff was frightened. Perhaps not for nine +generations had any of his ancestors caught a whiff of that peculiarly +terrifying scent of which every horse inherits knowledge and dread. + +As for Calico, he had no need of such spur as inherited terror. He had +fearsomeness enough of his own to send him rearing and pawing the air +until the whiffle-trees rapped his knees. Old Jeff did not rear. He +stared and snorted and trembled. When he felt his mate spring forward in +the traces he went with him, ready to do anything in order to get away +from that heaving, swaying thing which was coming toward them. + +"Whoa, ye pesky fools! Whoa, dod rot ye!" Uncle Enoch, wakened from the +half doze which he had been taking on the wagon-seat, now began to saw +on the lines. His shouts seemed to have aroused the heaving thing, for +it answered with a horrid, soul-chilling noise. + +By this time Calico was leaping frantically, snorting at every jump and +forcing Old Jeff to keep pace. They were at the top of a long grade and +down the slope the loaded wagon rattled easily behind them. Uncle Enoch +did his best. With feet well braced he tugged at the lines and shouted, +all to no purpose. Never before had Calico and Old Jeff met a circus on +the move. Neither had they previously come into such close quarters with +an elephant. One does not expect such things on the Bangor road. At +least they did not. They proposed to get away from such terrors in the +shortest possible time. + +Now the public ways of Maine are seldom macadamized. In places they are +laid out straight across and over the granite backbone of the +continent. The Bangor road is thus constructed in spots. This slope was +one of the spots where the bare ledge, with here and there six-inch +shelves and eroded gullies, offered a somewhat uneven surface to the +wheels. A well built Studebaker will stand a lot of this kind of +banging, but it is not wholly indestructible. So it happened that +half-way down the hill the left hind axle snapped at the hub. Thereupon +some two hundred dozen ears of early green-corn were strewn along the +flinty face of the highway, while Uncle Enoch was hurled, seat and all, +accompanied by four dozen eggs and ten pounds of Aunt Henrietta's best +butter, into the ditch. + +When the circus caravan overtook him Uncle Enoch had captured the +runaways and was leading them back to where the wrecked wagon lay by the +roadside. More or less butter was mixed with the sandy chin whiskers and +an inartistic yellow smooch down the front of his coat showed that the +eggs had followed him. + +"Rather lively pair of yours; eh, mister?" commented a red-faced man who +dropped off the pole-wagon. + +"Yes, ruther lively," assented Uncle Enoch, "'Specially when ye don't +want 'em to be. The off one's stiddy enough. It's this cantankerous +skewbald that started the tantrum. Whoa now, blame ye!" Calico's nose +was in the air again and he was snorting excitedly. + +"Lemme hold him 'till old Ajax goes by," said the circus man. + +"Thank ye. I'll swap him off fust chance I git, ef I don't fetch back +nuthin' but a boneyard skate," declared Uncle Enoch. + +As Ajax lumbered by, the circus man eyed with interest the dancing +Calico. He noted with approval the coat of fantastic design, the springy +knees and the fine tail that rippled its white length almost to Calico's +heels. + +"I'll do better'n that by you, mister," said he. "I've got a +fourteen-hundred pound Vermont Morgan, sound as a dollar, only eight +years old and ain't afraid o' nothin'. I'll swap him even for your +skewbald." + +"Like to see him," said Uncle Enoch. "If he's half what ye say it's a +trade." + +"Here he comes on the band-wagon team;" then, to the driver: "Hey, Bill, +pull up!" + +In less than half an hour from the time Calico had bolted at sight of +the circus cavalcade he was part and parcel of it, and helping to pull +one of those mysterious sheeted wagons along in the wake of the +terrifying Ajax. + +"The old party don't give you a very good send off," said the boss +hostler reflectively to Calico, "but I reckon you'll get used to Ajax +and the music-chariot before the season's over. Leastways, you're bound +to be an ornament to the grand entry." + +Calico's life with the Grand Occidental began abruptly and vigorously. +The driver of the band-wagon knew his business. Even when half asleep +he could see loose traces. After Calico had heard the long lash whistle +about his ears a few times he concluded that it was best to do his share +of the pulling. + +And what pulling it was! There were six horses of them, Calico being one +of the swings, but on an uphill grade that old chariot was the most +reluctant thing he had ever known. Uncle Enoch's stone-boat, which +Calico had once held to be merely a heart-breaking instrument of +torture, seemed light in retrospect. Often did he look reproachfully at +the monstrous combination of gilded wood and iron. Why need band-wagons +be made so exasperatingly heavy? The atrociously carved Pans on the +corners, with their scarred faces and broken pipes, were cumbersome +enough to make a load for one pair of horses, all by themselves. Calico +would think of them as he was straining up a long hill. He could almost +feel them pulling back on the traces in a sort of wooden stubbornness. +And when the team rattled the old chariot down a rough grade how he +hoped that two or three of the figures might be jolted off. But in the +morning, when the show lot was reached and the travelling wraps taken +off the wagons, there he would see the heavy shouldered Pans all in +their places as hideous and as permanent as ever. + +It was a hard and bitter lesson which Calico learned, this matter of +keeping one's tugs tight. Uncle Enoch had spared the whip, but in the +heart of Broncho Bill, who drove the band-wagon, there was no leniency. +Ready and strong was his whip hand, and he knew how to make the blood +follow the lash. No effort did he waste on fat-padded flanks when he +was in earnest. He cut at the ears, where the skin is tender. He could +touch up the leaders as easily as he could the wheel-horses, and when he +aimed at the swings he never missed fire. + +Travelling with a round top Calico found to be no sinecure. The Grand +Occidental, being a wagon show, moved wholly by road. The shortest jump +was fifteen miles, but often they did thirty between midnight and +morning; and thirty miles over country highways make no short jaunt when +you have a five-ton chariot behind you. The jump, however, was only the +beginning of the day's work. No sooner had you finished breakfast than +you were hooked in for the street parade, meaning from two to four miles +more. + +You had a few hours for rest after that before the grand entry. Ah, that +grand entry! That was something to live for. No matter how bad the roads +or how hard the hills had been Calico forgot it all during those ten +delightful minutes when, with his heart beating time to the rat-tat-tat +of the snare drum, he swung prancingly around the yellow arena. + +It all began in the dressing-tent with a period of confusion in which +horses were crowded together as thick as they could stand, while the +riders dressed and mounted in frantic haste, for to be late meant to be +fined. At last the ring-master clapped his hands as sign that all was in +readiness. There was a momentary hush. Then a bugle sounded, the flaps +were thrown back and to the crashing accompaniment of the band, the +seemingly chaotic mass unfolded into a double line as the horses broke +into a sharp gallop around the freshly dug ring. + +The first time Calico did the grand entry he felt as though he had been +sucked into a whirlpool and was being carried around by some +irresistible force. So dazed was he by the music, by the hum of human +voices and by the unfamiliar sights, that he forgot to rear and kick. He +could only prance and snort. He went forward because the rider of the +outside horse dragged him along by the bridle rein. Around and around he +circled until he lost all sense of direction, and when he was finally +shunted out through the dressing-tent flaps he was so dizzy he could +scarcely stand. + +For a horse accustomed to shy at his own shadow this was heroic +treatment. But it was successful. In a month you could not have startled +Calico with a pound of dynamite. He would placidly munch his oats within +three feet of the spot where a stake-gang swung the heavy sledges in +staccato time. He cared no more for flapping canvas than for the wagging +of a mule's ears. As for noises, when one has associated with a steam +calliope one ceases to mind anything in that line. Old Ajax, it was +true, remained a terror to Calico for weeks, but in the end the horse +lost much of his dread for the ancient pachyderm, although he never felt +wholly comfortable while those wicked little eyes were turned in his +direction. Hereditary instincts, you know, die hard. + +During those four months in which the Grand Occidental flitted over the +New England circuit from Kenduskeag, Me., to Bennington, Vt., there came +upon Calico knowledge of many things. The farm-horse to whom Bangor's +market-square had been full of strange sights became, in comparison with +his former self, most sophisticated. He feared no noise save that +sinister whistle made by Broncho Bill's long lash. The roaring sputter +of gasoline flares was no more to him than the sound of a running +brook. He had learned that it was safe to kick a mere canvasman when you +felt like doing so, but that a real artist, such as a tumbler or a +trapeze man, was to be respected, and that the person of the ring-master +was most sacred. Also he acquired the knack of sleeping at odd times, +whenever opportunity offered and under any conditions. + +When he had grown thus wise, and when he had ceased to stumble over +guy-ropes and tent-stakes, Calico received promotion. He was put in as +outside horse of the leading pair in the grand entry. He was decorated +with a white-braided cord bridle with silk rosettes and he wore between +his ears a feather pompon. All this was very fine and grand, but there +was so little of it. + +After it was all over, when the crowds had gone, the top lowered and the +stakes pulled, he was hitched to the leaden-wheeled band-wagon to +strain and tug at the traces all through the last weary half of the +night. But when fame has started your way, be you horse or man, you +cannot escape. Just before the season closed Calico was put on the +sawdust. This was the way of it. + +A ninety-foot top, you know, carries neither extra people nor spare +horses. The performers must double up their acts. No one is exempt save +the autocratic high-bar folk, who own their own apparatus and dictate +contracts. So with the horses. The teams that pull the pole-wagon, the +chariots and the other wheeled things which a circus needs, must also +figure in the grand entry and in the hippodrome races. Even the +ring-horses have their share of road-work in a wagon show. + +To the dappled grays used by Mlle. Zaretti, who was a top-liner on the +bills, fell the lot of pulling the ticket-wagon, this being the +lightest work. It was Mlle. Zaretti's habit to ride one at the afternoon +show, the other in the evening. So when the nigh gray developed a +shoulder gall on the day that the off one went lame there arose an +emergency. Also there ensued trouble for the driver of the ticket-wagon. +First he was tongue lashed by Mademoiselle, then he was fined a week's +pay and threatened with discharge by the manager. But when the +increasing wrath of the Champion Lady Equestrienne of America led her to +demand his instant and painful annihilation the worm turned. The driver +profanely declared that he knew his business. He had travelled with Yank +Robinson, he had, and no female hair-grabber under canvas should call +him down more than once in the same day. There was more of this, added +merely for emphasis. Mlle. Zaretti saw the point. She had gone too far. +Whereupon she discreetly turned on her high French heels and meekly +asked the boss hostler for the most promising animal he had. The boss +picked out Calico. + +No sooner was the top up that day than Calico's training began. Well it +was that he had learned obedience, for this was to be his one great +opportunity. Many a time had Calico circled around the banked ring's +outer circumference, but never had he been within it. Neither had he +worn before a broad pad. By dint of leading and coaxing he was made to +understand that his part of the act was to canter around the ring with +Mlle. Zaretti on his back, where she was to be allowed to go through as +many motions as she pleased. + +For a green horse Calico conducted himself with much credit. He did not +stumble. He did not shy at the ring-master's whip. He did not try to +dodge the banners or the hoops after he found how harmless they were. + +"Well, if I cut my act perhaps I can manage, but if I break my neck I +hope you'll murder that fool driver," was Mlle. Zaretti's verdict and +petition when the lesson ended. + +Mlle. Zaretti's gyrations that afternoon and evening were somewhat tame +when you consider the manner in which she was billed. Calico did his +part with only a few excusable blunders, and she was so pleased that he +got the apples and sugarplums which usually rewarded the grays. + +The galled shoulder healed, but the lame leg developed into an incurably +stiff joint. Three nights later Calico, to his great joy, left the +band-chariot team forever, to find himself on the light ticket-wagon and +regularly entered as a ring horse. Nor was this all. When the season +closed Mlle. Zaretti bought Calico at an exorbitant price. He was +shipped to a strange place, where they put him in a box-stall, fed him +with generous regularity and asked him to do absolutely nothing at all. + +It was a month before Calico saw his mistress again. He had been taken +into a great barn-like structure which had many sky-lights and windows. +Here was an ideal ring, smooth and springy, with no hidden rocks or soft +spots such as one sometimes finds when on the road. Mlle. Zaretti no +longer wore her spangled pink dress. Instead she appeared in serviceable +knickerbockers and wore wooden-soled slippers on her feet. In the middle +of the ring a man who was turning himself into a human pin-wheel stopped +long enough to shout: "Hello, Kate; signed yet?" + +"You bet," said Mlle. Zaretti. "Next spring I go out by rail with a +three topper. I'm going to do the real bareback act, too. No more broad +pads and wagon shows for Katie. Hey, Jim, rig up your Stokes' mechanic." + +Jim, a stout man who wore his suspenders outside a blue sweater and +talked huskily, arranged a swinging derrick-arm, the purpose of which, +it developed, was to keep Mlle. Zaretti off the ground whenever she +missed her footing on Calico's back. There was a broad leather belt +around her waist and to this was fastened a rope. Very often was this +needed during those first three weeks of practice, for, true to her +word, Mlle. Zaretti no longer strapped on Calico's back the broad pad to +which he had been accustomed. At first the wooden-soles hurt and made +him flinch, but in time the skin became toughened and he minded them not +at all, although Mlle. Zaretti was no featherweight. + +Long before the snow was gone Mlle. Zaretti had discarded the +derrick-arm. Urging Calico to his best speed she would grasp the cinch +handles and with one light bound land on his well-resined back. Then, as +he circled around in an even, rythmical lope, she would jump the banners +and dive through the hoops. It was more or less fun for Calico, but it +all seemed so utterly useless. There were no crowds to see and applaud. +He missed the music and the cheering. + +At last there came a change. Calico and his mistress took a journey. +They arrived in the biggest city Calico had ever seen, and one +afternoon, to the accompaniment of such a crash of music and such a +chorus of "HI! HI! HI's!" as he had never before heard, they burst into +a great arena where were not only one ring but three, and about them, +tier on tier as far up as one could see, the eager faces and gay +clothes of a vast multitude of spectators. Calico, as you will guess, +had become a factor in "The Grandest Aggregation." + +If Calico had longed for music and applause his wishes were surely +answered, for, although Mlle. Zaretti had jumped from a wagon-show to a +three-ring combination that began its season with an indoor March +opening, she was still a top-liner. That is, she had a feature act. + +Thus it was that just as the Japanese jugglers finished tossing each +other on their toes in the upper ring and while the property helpers +were making ready the lower one for the elephants, in the centre ring +Mlle. Zaretti and Calico alone held the attention of great audiences. + +"Mem-zelle Zar-ret-ti! Champ-i-on la-dy bare-back ri-der of the +wor-r-r-r-ld, on her beaut-i-ful Ar-a-bian steed!" + +That was the manner in which the megaphone announcer heralded their +appearance. Then followed a rattle of drums and a tooting of horns, +ending in one tremendous bang as Calico, lifting his feet so high and so +daintily you might have thought he was stepping over a row of china +vases, and bowing his head so low that his neck arched almost double, +came mincing into the arena. In his mouth he champed solid silver bits, +and his polished hoofs were rimmed with nickel-plated shoes. The heavy +bridle reins were covered with the finest white kid, as was the +surcingle which completed his trappings. + +Rather stout had Calico become in these halcyon days. His back and +flanks were like the surface of a well-upholstered sofa. His coat of +motley told its own story of daily rubbings and good feeding. The white +was dazzlingly white and the carrot-red patches glowed like the inside +of a well-burnished copper kettle. So shiny was he that you could see +reflected on his sides the black, gold-spangled tights and fluffy black +skirts worn by Mlle. Zaretti, who poised on his back as lightly as if +she had been an ostrich-plume dropped on a snow-bank and who smilingly +kissed her finger-tips to the craning-necked tiers of spectators with +charming indiscrimination and admirable impartiality. + +You may imagine that this picture was not without its effect. Never did +it fail to draw forth a mighty volume of "Ohs!" and "Ah-h-h-hs!" +especially at the afternoon performances, when the youngsters were out +in force. And how Calico did relish this hum of admiration! Perhaps +Mlle. Zaretti thought some of it was meant for her. No such idea had +Calico. + +You could see this by the way in which he tossed his head and pawed +haughtily as he waited for the band to strike up his music. Oh, yes, +_his_ music. You must know that by this time the horse that had once +pulled the stone-boat on Uncle Enoch's farm, and had later learned the +hard lesson of obedience under Broncho Bill's lash had now become an +equine personage. He had his grooms and his box-stall. He had whims +which must be humored. One of these had to do with the music which +played him through his act. He had discovered that the Blue Danube waltz +was exactly to his liking, and to no other tune would he consent to do +his best. Sulking was one of his new accomplishments. + +As for Mlle. Zaretti, she affected no such frills, but she was ever +ready to defend those of her horse. A hard-working, frugal, ambitious +young person was Mlle. Zaretti, whose few extravagances were mostly on +Calico's account. For him she demanded the Blue Danube waltz in the face +of the band-master's grumblings. + +When the Grandest Aggregation finally took the road the satisfaction of +Calico was complete. He was under canvas once more. No band-wagon work +wearied his nights. He even enjoyed the street parade. In the evening, +when his act was over, he left the tents, glowing huge and brilliant +against the night, and jogged quietly off to his padded car-stall, where +were to be had a full two hours' rest before No. 2 train pulled out. + +In the gray of the morning he would wake to contentedly look out through +his grated window at the flying landscape, remembering with a sigh of +satisfaction that no longer was he routed out at cockcrow to be driven +afield. Later he could see the curious crowds in the railroad yards as +the long lines of cars were shunted back and forth. As he lazily +munched his breakfast oats he watched the draught horses patiently drag +the huge chariots across the tracks and off to the show lot where _he_ +was not due for hours. + +A life of mild exertion, enjoyable excitement, changing scenes, and +considerate treatment was his. No wonder the fat stuck to Calico's ribs. +No wonder his eyes beamed contentment. Such are the sweets of high +achievement. + + * * * * * + +It was to sell early July peas that Uncle Enoch again took the Bangor +road one day about three years after his memorable meeting with the +Grand Occidental. On his way across the city to Norumbega Market he +found his way blocked by a line of waiting people. From an urchin-tossed +handbill, Uncle Enoch learned that the Grandest Aggregation was in town +and that "the Unparalleled Street Pageant" was about due. So he waited. + +With grim enjoyment Uncle Enoch watched the brilliant spectacle +impassively. Old Jeff merely pricked up his ears in curious interest as +the procession moved along in its dazzling course. + +"Zaretti, Bareback Queen of the World! On her Famous Arabian Steed +Abdullah! Presented to her by the Shah of Persia!" + +Thus read Uncle Enoch as he followed the printed order of parade with +toil-grimed forefinger. + +For a moment Uncle Enoch's gaze was held by the Bareback Queen, who +looked languidly into space over the top of the tiger cage. Then he +stared hard at the "far-famed Arabian steed," gift of the impulsive +Shah. Said steed was caparisoned in a gorgeous saddle-blanket hung with +silver fringe. A silver-mounted martingale dangled between his knees. +Holding the silk-tasselled bridle rein, and walking in respectful +attendance, was a groom in tight-fitting riding breeches and a cockaded +hat which rested mainly on his ears. The horse was of white, mottled +with carrot-red in such striking pattern that, having once seen it, one +could hardly forget. + +"Gee whilikins!" said Uncle Enoch softly to himself, as if fearful of +betraying some newly discovered secret. + +But Old Jeff was moved to no such reticence. Lifting his head over the +shoulders of the crowd he pointed his ears and gave vent to a quick, +glad whinny of recognition. The "far-famed Arabian," turning so sharply +that the unwary groom was knocked sprawling, looked hard at the humble +farm-horse, and then, with an answering high-pitched neigh, dashed +through the quickly scattering spectators. + +It was a moment of surprises. The Bareback Queen of the World was +startled out of her day-dream to find her "Arabian steed" rubbing noses +with a ragged-coated horse hitched to a battered farm-wagon, in which +sat a chin-whiskered old fellow who grinned expansively and slyly winked +at her over the horses' heads. + +"It's all right, ma'am, I won't let on," he said. + +Before she could reply, the groom, who had rescued his cockaded hat and +his presence of mind, rushed in and dragged the far-famed steed back +into the line of procession. + +"Wall, I swan to man, ef Old Jeff didn't know that air Calicker afore I +did," declared Uncle Enoch, as he described the affair to Aunt +Henrietta; "an' me that raised him from a colt. I do swan to man!" + +Mlle. Zaretti did not "swan to man," whatever that may be, but to this +day she marvels concerning the one and only occasion when her trusted +Calico disturbed the progress of the Grandest Aggregation's unparalleled +street pageant. + + + + +OLD SILVER + +A STORY OF THE GRAY HORSE TRUCK + + +Down in the heart of the skyscraper district, keeping watch and ward +over those presumptuous, man-made cliffs around which commerce heaps its +Fundy tides, you will find, unhandsomely housed on a side street, a hook +and ladder company, known unofficially and intimately throughout the +department as the Gray Horse Truck. + +Much like a big family is a fire company. It has seasons of good +fortune, when there are neither sick leaves nor hospital cases to +report; and it has periods of misfortune, when trouble and disaster +stalk abruptly through the ranks. Gray Horse Truck company is no +exception. Calm prosperity it has enjoyed, and of swift, unexpected +tragedy it has had full measure. Yet its longest mourning and most +sincere, was when it lost Old Silver. + +Although some of the men of Gray Horse Truck had seen more than ten +years' continuous service in the house, not one could remember a time +when Old Silver had not been on the nigh side of the poles. Mikes and +Petes and Jims there had been without number. Some were good and some +were bad, some had lasted years and some only months, some had been kind +and some ugly, some stupid and some clever; but there had been but one +Silver, who had combined all their good traits as well as many of their +bad ones. + +Horses and men, Silver had seen them come and go. He had seen +probationers rise step by step to battalion and deputy chiefs, win +shields and promotion or meet the sudden fate that is their lot. All +that time Silver's name-board had swung over his old stall, and when the +truck went out Silver was to be found in his old place on the left of +the poles. Driver succeeded driver, but one and all they found Silver +first under the harness when a station hit, first to jump forward when +the big doors rolled back, and always as ready to do his bit on a long +run as he was to demand his four quarts when feeding-time came. + +Before the days of the Training Stable, where now they try out new +material, Silver came into the service. That excellent institution, +therefore, cannot claim the credit of his selection. Perhaps he was +chosen by some shrewd old captain, who knew a fire-horse when he saw +one, even in the raw; perhaps it was only a happy chance which put him +in the business. At any rate, his training was the work of a master +hand. + +Silver was not one of the fretting kind, so at the age of fifteen he was +apple-round, his legs were straight and springy, and his eyes as full +and bright as those of a school-boy at a circus. The dapples on his gray +flanks were as distinct as the under markings on old velours, while his +tail had the crisp whiteness of a polished steel bit on a frosty +morning. Unless you had seen how shallow were his molar cups or noted +the length of his bridle teeth, would you have guessed him not more than +six. + +As for the education of Silver, its scope and completeness, no outsider +would have given credence to the half of it. When Lannigan had driven +the truck for three years, and had been cronies with Silver for nearly +five, it was his habit to say, wonderingly: + +"He beats me, Old Silver does. I git onto some new wrinkle of his every +day. No; 'taint no sorter use to tell his tricks; you wouldn't believe, +nor would I an' I hadn't seen with me two eyes." + +In the way of mischief Silver was a star performer. What other +fire-horse ever mastered the intricacies of the automatic halter +release? It was Silver, too, that picked from the Captain's hip-pocket a +neatly folded paper and chewed the same with malicious enthusiasm. The +folded paper happened to be the Company's annual report, in the writing +of which the Captain had spent many weary hours. + +Other things besides mischief however, had Silver learned. Chief of +these was to start with the jigger. Sleeping or waking, lying or +standing, the summons that stirred the men from snoring ease to tense, +rapid action, never failed to find Silver alert. As the halter shank +slipped through the bit-ring that same instant found Silver gathered +for the rush through the long narrow lane leading from his open stall to +the poles, above which, like great couchant spiders, waited the +harnesses pendant on the hanger-rods. It was unwise to be in Silver's +way when that little brazen voice was summoning him to duty. More than +one man of Gray Horse Truck found that out. + +Once under the harness Silver was like a carved statue until the +trip-strap had been pulled, the collar fastened and the reins snapped +in. Then he wanted to poke the poles through the doors, so eager was he +to be off. It was no fault of Silver's that his team could not make a +two-second hitch. + +With the first strain at the traces his impatience died out. A +sixty-foot truck starts with more or less reluctance. Besides, Silver +knew that before anything like speed could be made it was necessary +either to mount the grade to Broadway or to ease the machine down to +Greenwich Street. It was traces or backing-straps for all that was in +you, and at the end a sharp turn which never could have been made had +not the tiller-man done his part with the rear wheels. + +But when once the tires caught the car-tracks Silver knew what to +expect. At the turn he and his team mates could feel Lannigan gathering +in the reins as though for a full stop. Next came the whistle of the +whip. It swept across their flanks so quickly that it was practically +one stroke for them all. At the same moment Lannigan leaned far forward +and shot out his driving arm. The reins went loose, their heads went +forward and, as if moving on a pivot, the three leaped as one horse. +Again the reins tightened for a second, again they were loosened. When +the bits were pulled back up came three heads, up came three pairs of +shoulders and up came three pairs of forelegs; for at the other end of +the lines, gripped vice-like in Lannigan's big fist, was swinging a good +part of Lannigan's one hundred and ninety-eight pounds. + +Left to themselves each horse would have leaped at a different instant. +It was that one touch of the lash and the succeeding swing of Lannigan's +bulk which gave them the measure, which set the time, which made it +possible for less than four thousand pounds of horse-flesh to jump a +five-ton truck up the street at a four-minute clip. + +For Silver all other minor pleasures in life were as nothing to the +fierce joy he knew when, with a dozen men clinging to the hand-rails, +the captain pulling the bell-rope and Lannigan, far up above them all, +swaying on the lines, the Gray Horse Truck swept up Broadway to a first +call-box. + +It was like trotting to music, if you've ever done that. Possibly you +could have discovered no harmony at all in the confused roar of the +apparatus as it thundered past. But to the ears of Silver there were +many sounds blended into one. There were the rhythmical beat of hoofs, +the low undertone of the wheels grinding the pavement, the high note of +the forged steel lock-opener as it hammered the foot-board, the mellow +ding-dong of the bell, the creak of the forty-and fifty-foot extensions, +the rattle of the iron-shod hooks, the rat-tat-tat of the scaling +ladders on the bridge and the muffled drumming of the leather helmets as +they jumped in the basket. + +With the increasing speed all these sounds rose in pitch until, when the +team was at full-swing, they became one vibrant theme--thrilling, +inspiring, exultant--the action song of the Truck. + +To enjoy such music, to know it at its best, you must leap in the +traces, feel the swing of the poles, the pull of the whiffle-trees, the +slap of the trace-bearers; and you must see the tangled street-traffic +clear before you as if by the wave of a magician's wand. + +Of course it all ended when, with heaving flanks and snorting nostrils +you stopped before a building, where thin curls of smoke escaped from +upper windows. Generally you found purring beside a hydrant a shiny +steamer which had beaten the truck by perhaps a dozen seconds. Then you +watched your men snatch the great ladders from the truck, heave them up +against the walls and bring down pale-faced, staring-eyed men and women. +You saw them tear open iron shutters, batter down doors, smash windows +and do other things to make a path for the writhing, white-bodied, +yellow-nosed snakes that uncoiled from the engine and were carried +wriggling in where the flames lapped along baseboard and floor-beams. +You saw the little ripples of smoke swell into huge, cream-edged billows +that tumbled out and up so far above that you lost sight of them. + +Sometimes there came dull explosions, when smoke and flame belched out +about you. Sometimes stones and bricks and cornices fell near you. But +you were not to flinch or stir until Lannigan, who watched all these +happenings with critical and unwinking eyes, gave the word. + +And after it was all over--when the red and yellow flames had ceased to +dance in the empty window spaces, when only the white steam-smoke rolled +up through the yawning roof-holes--the ladders were re-shipped, you left +the purring engines to drown out the last hidden spark, and you went +prancing back to your House, where the lonesome desk-man waited +patiently for your return. + +No loping rush was the homeward trip. The need for haste had passed. Now +came the parade. You might toss your head, arch your neck, and use all +your fancy steps: Lannigan didn't care. In fact, he rather liked to have +you show off a bit. The men on the truck, smutty of face and hands, +joked across the ladders. The strain was over. It was a time of +relaxing, for behind was duty well done. + +Then came the nice accuracy of swinging a sixty-foot truck in a +fifty-foot street and of backing through a fourteen-foot door wheels +which spanned thirteen feet from hub rim to hub rim. + +After unhooking there was the rubbing and the extra feeding of oats that +always follows a long run. How good it was to be bedded down after this +lung stretching, leg limbering work. + +Such was the life which Old Silver was leading when there arrived +disaster. It came in the shape of a milk leg. Perhaps it was caused by +over-feeding, but more likely it resulted from much standing in stall +during a fortnight when the runs had been few and short. + +It behaved much as milk legs usually do. While there was no great pain +the leg was unhandsome to look upon, and it gave to Old Silver a +clumsiness of movement he had never known before. + +Industriously did Lannigan apply such simple remedies as he had at hand. +Yet the swelling increased until from pastern to hock was neither shape +nor grace. Worst of all, in getting on his feet one morning, Silver +barked the skin with a rap from his toe calks. Then it did look bad. Of +course this had to happen just before the veterinary inspector's +monthly visit. + +"Old Silver, eh?" said he. "Well, I've been looking for him to give out. +That's a bad leg there, a very bad leg. Send him up to the hospital in +the morning, and I'll have another gray down here. It's time you had a +new horse in his place." + +Lannigan stepped forward to protest. It was only a milk leg. He had +cured such before. He could cure this one. Besides, he couldn't spare +Silver, the best horse on his team. + +But the inspector often heard such pleas. + +"You drivers," said he, "would keep a horse going until he dropped +through the collar. To hear you talk anyone would think there wasn't +another horse in the Department. What do you care so long as you get +another gray?" + +Very much did Lannigan care, but he found difficulty in putting his +sentiments into words. Besides, of what use was it to talk to a blind +fool who could say that one gray horse was as good as another. Hence +Lannigan only looked sheepish and kept his tongue between his teeth +until the door closed behind the inspector. Then he banged a ham-like +fist into a broad palm and relieved his feelings in language both +forceful and picturesque. This failed to mend matters, so Lannigan, +putting an arm around the old gray's neck, told Silver all about it. +Probably Silver misunderstood, for he responded by reaching over +Lannigan's shoulder and chewing the big man's leather belt. Only when +Lannigan fed to him six red apples and an extra quart of oats did Silver +mistrust that something unusual was going to happen. Next morning, sure +enough, it did happen. + +Some say Lannigan wept. As to that none might be sure, for he sat facing +the wall in a corner of the bunk-room. No misunderstanding could there +have been about his remarks, muttered though they were. They were +uncomplimentary to all veterinary inspectors in general, and most +pointedly uncomplimentary to one in particular. Below they were leading +Old Silver away to the hospital. + +Perhaps it was that Silver's milk leg was stubborn in yielding to +treatment. Perhaps the folks at the horse hospital deemed it unwise to +spend time and effort on a horse of his age. At any rate, after less +than a week's stay, he was cast into oblivion. They took away the leaden +number medal, which for more than ten years he had worn on a strap +around his neck, and they turned him over to a sales-stable as +carelessly as a battalion chief would toss away a half-smoked cigar. + +Now a sales-stable is a place where horse destinies are shuffled by +reckless and unthinking hands. Also its doors open on the four corners +of the world's crossed highways. You might go from there to find your +work waiting between the shafts of a baker's cart just around the +corner, or you might be sent across seas to die miserably of tsetse +stings on the South African veldt. + +Neither of these things happened to Silver. It occurred that his arrival +at the sales-stable was coincident with a rush order from the Street +Cleaning Department. So there he went. Fate, it seemed, had marked him +for municipal service. + +There was no delay about his initiation. Into his forehoofs they branded +this shameful inscription: D. S. C. 937, on his back they flung a +forty-pound single harness with a dirty piece of canvas as a blanket. +They hooked him to an iron dump-cart, and then, with a heavy lashed +whip, they haled him forth at 5.30 a.m. to begin the inglorious work of +removing refuse from the city streets. + +Perhaps you think Old Silver could not feel the disgrace, the ignominy +of it all. Could you have seen the lowered head, the limp-hung tail, the +dulled eyes and the dispirited sag of his quarters, you would have +thought differently. + +It is one thing to jump a hook and ladder truck up Broadway to the +relief of a fire-threatened block, and quite another to plod humbly +along the curb from ash-can to ash-can. How Silver did hate those cans. +Each one should have been for him a signal to stop. But it was not. In +consequence, he was yanked to a halt every two minutes. + +Sometimes he would crane his neck and look mournfully around at the +unsightly leg which he had come to understand was the cause of all his +misery. There would come into his great eyes a look of such pitiful +melancholy that one might almost fancy tears rolling out. Then he would +be roused by an exasperated driver, who jerked cruelly on the lines and +used his whip as if it had been a flail. + +When the cart was full Silver must drag it half across the city to the +riverfront, and up a steep runway from the top of which its contents +were dumped into the filthy scows that waited below. At the end of each +monotonous, wearisome day he jogged stiffly to the uninviting stables, +where he was roughly ushered into a dark, damp stall. + +To another horse, unused to anything better, the life would not have +seemed hard. Of oats and hay there were fair quantities, and there was +more or less hasty grooming. But to Silver, accustomed to such little +amenities as friendly pats from men, and the comradeship of his +fellow-workers, it was like a bad dream. He was not even cheered by the +fact that his leg, intelligently treated by the stable-boss, was growing +better. What did that matter? Had he not lost his caste? Express and +dray horses, the very ones that had once scurried into side streets at +sound of his hoofs, now insolently crowded him to the curb. When he had +been on the truck Silver had yielded the right of way to none, he had +held his head high; now he dodged and waited, he wore a blind bridle, +and he wished neither to see nor to be seen. + +For three months Silver had pulled that hateful refuse chariot about the +streets, thankful only that he traversed a section of the city new to +him. Then one day he was sent out with a new driver whose route lay +along familiar ways. The thing Silver dreaded, that which he had long +feared, did not happen for more than a week after the change. + +It came early one morning. He had been backed up in front of a big +office-building where a dozen bulky cans cumbered the sidewalk. The +driver was just lifting one of them to the tail-board when, from far +down the street, there reached Silver's ears a well-known sound. Nearer +it swept, louder and louder it swelled. The old gray lifted his lowered +head in spite of his determination not to look. The driver, too, poised +the can on the cart-edge, and waited, gazing. + +In a moment the noise and its cause were opposite. Old Silver hardly +needed to glance before knowing the truth. It was his old company, the +Gray Horse Truck. There was his old driver, there were his old team +mates. In a flash there passed from Silver's mind all memory of his +humble condition, his wretched state. Tossing his head and giving his +tail a swish, he leaped toward the apparatus, neatly upsetting the +filled ash-can over the head and shoulders of the bewildered driver. + +By a supreme effort Silver dropped into the old lope. A dozen bounds +took him abreast the nigh horse, and, in spite of Lannigan's shouts, +there he stuck, littering the newly swept pavement most disgracefully at +every jump. Thus strangely accompanied, the Gray Horse Truck thundered +up Broadway for ten blocks, and when it stopped, before a building in +which a careless watchman's lantern had set off the automatic, Old +Silver was part of the procession. + +It was Lannigan who, in the midst of an eloquent flow of indignant +abuse, made this announcement: "Why, boys--it's--it's our Old Silver; +jiggered if it ain't!" + +Each member of the crew having expressed his astonishment in +appropriate words, Lannigan tried to sum it all up by saying: + +"Silver, you old sinner! So they've put you in a blanked ash-cart, have +they? Well, I'll--I'll be----" + +But there speech failed him. His wits did not. There was a whispered +council of war. Lannigan made a daring proposal, at which all grinned +appreciatively. + +"Sure, they'd never find out," said one. + +"An' see, his game leg's most as good as new again," suggested another. + +It was an unheard-of, audacious, and preposterous proceeding; one which +the rules and regulations of the Fire Department, many and varied as +they are, never anticipated. But it was adopted. Meanwhile the Captain +found it necessary to inspect the interior of the building, the +Lieutenant turned his back, and the thing was done. + +That same evening an ill-tempered and very dirty ash-cart driver turned +up at the stables with a different horse from the one he had driven out +that morning, much to the mystification of himself and certain officials +of the Department of Street Cleaning. + +Also, there pranced back as nigh horse of the truck a big gray with one +slightly swollen hind leg. By the way he held his head, by the look in +his big, bright eyes, and by his fancy stepping one might have thought +him glad to be where he was. And it was so. As for the rest, Lannigan +will tell you in strict confidence that the best mode of disguising +hoof-brands until they are effaced by new growth is to fill them with +axle-grease. It cannot be detected. + +Should you ever chance to see, swinging up lower Broadway, a +hook-and-ladder truck drawn by three big grays jumping in perfect +unison, note especially the nigh horse--that's the one on the left side +looking forward. It will be Old Silver who, although now rising sixteen, +seems to be good for at least another four years of active service. + + + + +BLUE BLAZES + +AND THE MARRING OF HIM + + +Those who should know say that a colt may have no worse luck than to be +foaled on a wet Friday. On a most amazingly wet Friday--rain above, +slush below, and a March snorter roaring between--such was the natal day +of Blue Blazes. + +And an unhandsome colt he was. His broomstick legs seemed twice the +proper length, and so thin you would hardly have believed they could +ever carry him. His head, which somehow suggested the lines of a +boot-jack, was set awkwardly on an ewed neck. + +For this pitiful, ungainly little figure only two in all the world had +any feeling other than contempt. One of these, of course, was old Kate, +the sorrel mare who mothered him. She gazed at him with sad old eyes +blinded by that maternal love common to all species, sighed with huge +content as he nuzzled for his breakfast, and believed him to be the +finest colt that ever saw a stable. The other was Lafe, the chore boy, +who, when Farmer Perkins had stirred the little fellow roughly with his +boot-toe as he expressed his deep dissatisfaction, made reparation by +gently stroking the baby colt and bringing an old horse-blanket to wrap +him in. Old Kate understood. Lafe read gratitude in the big, sorrowful +mother eyes. + +Months later, when the colt had learned to balance himself on the +spindly legs, the old sorrel led him proudly about the pasture, showing +him tufts of sweet new spring grass, and taking him to the brook, where +were tender and juicy cowslips, finely suited to milk-teeth. + +In time the slender legs thickened, the chest deepened, the barrel +filled out, the head became less ungainly. As if to make up for these +improvements, the colt's markings began to set. They took the shapes of +a saddle-stripe, three white stockings, and an irregular white blaze +covering one side of his face and patching an eye. On chest and belly +the mother sorrel came out rather sharply, but on the rest of him was +that peculiar blending which gives the blue roan shade, a color +unpleasing to the critical eye, and one that lowers the market value. + +Lafe, however, found the colt good to look upon. But Lafe himself had no +heritage of beauty. He had not even grown up to his own long, thin legs. +Possibly no boy ever had hair of such a homely red. Certainly few could +have been found with bigger freckles. But it was his eyes which +accented the plainness of his features. You know the color of a ripe +gooseberry, that indefinable faint purplish tint; well, that was it. + +If Lafe found no fault with Blue Blazes, the colt found no fault with +Lafe. At first the colt would sniff suspiciously at him from under the +shelter of the old sorrel's neck, but in time he came to regard Lafe +without fear, and to suffer a hand on his flank or the chore boy's arm +over his shoulder. So between them was established a gentle confidence +beautiful to see. + +Fortunate it would have been had Lafe been master of horse on the +Perkins farm. But he was not. Firstly, there are no such officials on +Michigan peach-farms; secondly, Lafe would not have filled the position +had such existed. Lafe, you see, did not really belong. He was an +interloper, a waif who had drifted in from nowhere in particular, and +who, because of a willingness to do a man's work for no wages at all, +was allowed a place at table and a bunk over the wagon-shed. Farmer +Perkins, more jealous of his reputation for shrewdness than of his +soul's salvation, would point to Lafe and say, knowingly: + +"He's a bad one, that boy is; look at them eyes." And surely, if Lafe's +soul-windows mirrored the color of his mental state, he was indeed in a +bad way. + +In like manner Farmer Perkins judged old Kate's unhandsome colt. + +"Look at them ears," he said, really looking at the unsightly +nose-blaze. "We'll have a circus when it comes to breakin' that +critter." + +Sure enough, it _was_ more or less of a circus. Perhaps the colt was at +fault, perhaps he was not. Olsen, a sullen-faced Swede farm-hand, whose +youth had been spent in a North Sea herring-boat, and whose disposition +had been matured by sundry second mates on tramp steamers, was the +appropriate person selected for introducing Blue Blazes to the uses of a +halter. + +Judging all humans by the standard established by the mild-mannered +Lafe, the colt allowed himself to be caught after small effort. But when +the son of old Kate first felt a halter he threw up his head in alarm. +Abruptly and violently his head was jerked down. Blue Blazes was +surprised, hurt, angered. Something was bearing hard on his nose; there +was something about his throat that choked. + +Had he, then, been deceived? Here he was, wickedly and maliciously +trapped. He jerked and slatted his head some more. This made matters +worse. He was cuffed and choked. Next he tried rearing. His head was +pulled savagely down, and at this point Olsen began beating him with +the slack of the halter rope. + +Ah, now Blue Blazes understood! They got your head and neck into that +arrangement of straps and rope that they might beat you. Wild with fear +he plunged desperately to right and left. Blindly he reared, pawing the +air. Just as one of his hoofs struck Olsen's arm a buckle broke. The +colt felt the nose-strap slide off. He was free. + +A marvellous tale of fierce encounter with a devil-possessed colt did +Olsen carry back to the farm-house. In proof he showed a broken halter, +rope-blistered hands, and a bruised arm. + +"I knew it!" said Farmer Perkins. "Knew it the minute I see them ears. +He's a vicious brute, that colt, but we'll tame him." + +So four of them, variously armed with whips and pitchforks, went down to +the pasture and tried to drive Blue Blazes into a fence corner. But the +colt was not to be cornered. From one end of the pasture to the other he +raced. He had had enough of men for that day. + +Next morning Farmer Perkins tried familiar strategy. Under his coat he +hid a stout halter and a heavy bull whip. Then, holding a grain measure +temptingly before him, he climbed the pasture fence. + +In the measure were oats which he rattled seductively. Also he called +mildly and persuasively. Blue Blazes was suspicious. Four times he +allowed the farmer to come almost within reaching distance only to turn +and bolt with a snort of alarm just at the crucial moment. At last he +concluded that he must have just one taste of those oats. + +"Come coltie, nice coltie," cooed the man in a strained but conciliating +voice. + +Blue Blazes planted himself for a sudden whirl, stretched his neck as +far as possible and worked his upper lip inquiringly. The smell of the +oats lured him on. Hardly had he touched his nose to the grain before +the measure was dropped and he found himself roughly grabbed by the +forelock. In a moment he saw the hated straps and ropes. Before he could +break away the halter was around his neck and buckled firmly. + +Farmer Perkins changed his tone: "Now, you damned ugly little brute, +I've got you! [Jerk] Blast your wicked hide! [Slash] You will, will you? +[Yank] I'll larn you!" [Slash.] + +Man and colt were almost exhausted when the "lesson" was finished. It +left Blue Blazes ridged with welts, trembling, fright sickened. Never +again would he trust himself within reach of those men; no, not if they +offered him a whole bushel of oats. + +But it was a notable victory. Vauntingly Farmer Perkins told how he had +haltered the vicious colt. He was unconscious that a pair of ripe +gooseberry eyes turned black with hate, that behind his broad back was +shaken a futile fist. + +The harness-breaking of Blue Blazes was conducted on much the same plan +as his halter-taming, except that during the process he learned to use +his heels. One Olsen, who has since walked with a limp, can tell you +that. + +Another feature of the harness-breaking came as an interruption to +further bull-whip play by Farmer Perkins. It was a highly melodramatic +episode in which Lafe, gripping the handle of a two-tined pitchfork, his +freckled-face greenish-white and the pupils of his eyes wide with the +fear of his own daring, threatened immediate damage to the person of +Farmer Perkins, unless the said Perkins dropped the whip. This Perkins +did. More than that, he fled with ridiculous haste, and in craven +terror; while Lafe, having given the trembling colt a parting caress, +quitted the farm abruptly and for all time. + +As for Blue Blazes, two days later he was sold to a travelling +horse-dealer, and departed without any sorrow of farewells. In the weeks +during which he trailed over the fruit district of southern Michigan in +the wake of the horse-buyer, Blue Blazes learned nothing good and much +that was ill. He finished the trip with raw hocks, a hoof-print on his +flank, and teeth-marks on neck and withers. Horses led in a bunch do not +improve in disposition. + +Some of the scores the blue-roan colt paid in kind, some he did not, but +he learned the game of give and take. Men and horses alike, he +concluded, were against him. If he would hold his own he must be ready +with teeth and hoofs. Especially he carried with him always a black, +furious hatred of man in general. + +So he went about with ears laid back, the whites of his eyes showing, +and a bite or a kick ready in any emergency. Day by day the hate in him +deepened until it became the master-passion. A quick foot-fall behind him +was enough to send his heels flying as though they had been released by +a hair-trigger. He kicked first and investigated afterward. The mere +sight of a man within reaching distance roused all his ferocity. + +He took a full course in vicious tricks. He learned how to crowd a man +against the side of a stall, and how to reach him, when at his head, by +an upward and forward stroke of the forefoot. He could kick straight +behind with lightning quickness, or give the hoof a sweeping +side-movement most comprehensive and unexpected. The knack of lifting +the bits with the tongue and shoving them forward of the bridle-teeth +came in time. It made running away a matter of choice. + +When it became necessary to cause diversion he would balk. He no longer +cared for whips. Physically and mentally he had become hardened to +blows. Men he had ceased to fear, for most of them feared him and he +knew it. He only despised and hated them. One exception Blue Blazes +made. This was in favor of men and boys with red hair and freckles. Such +he would not knowingly harm. A long memory had the roan. + +Toward his own kind Blue Blazes bore himself defiantly. Double harness +was something he loathed. One was not free to work his will on the +despised driver if hampered by a pole and mate. In such cases he nipped +manes and kicked under the traces until released. He had a special +antipathy for gray horses and fought them on the smallest provocation, +or upon none at all. + +As a result Blue Blazes, while knowing no masters, had many owners, +sometimes three in a single week. He began his career by filling a three +months' engagement as a livery horse, but after he had run away a dozen +times, wrecked several carriages, and disabled a hostler, he was sold +for half his purchase price. + +Then did he enter upon his wanderings in real earnest. He pulled +street-cars, delivery wagons, drays and ash-carts. He was sold to +unsuspecting farmers, who, when his evil traits cropped out, swapped him +unceremoniously and with ingenious prevarication by the roadside. In the +natural course of events he was much punished. + +Up and across the southern peninsula of Michigan he drifted +contentiously, growing more vicious with each encounter, more daring +after each victory. In Muskegon he sent the driver of a grocery wagon to +the hospital with a shoulder-bite requiring cauterization and four +stitches. In Manistee he broke the small bones in the leg of a baker's +large boy. In Cadillac a boarding-stable hostler struck him with an iron +shovel. Blue Blazes kicked the hostler quite accurately and very +suddenly through a window. + +Between Cadillac and Kalaska he spent several lively weeks with farmers. +Most of them tried various taming processes. Some escaped with bruises +and some suffered serious injury. At Alpena he found an owner who, +having read something very convincing in a horse-trainer's book, +elaborately strapped the roan's legs according to diagram, and then went +into the stall to wreak vengeance with a riding-whip. Blue Blazes +accepted one cut, after which he crushed the avenger against the plank +partition until three of the man's ribs were broken. The Alpena man was +fished from under the roan's hoofs just in time to save his life. + +This incident earned Blue Blazes the name of "man-killer," and it stuck. +He even figured in the newspaper dispatches. "Blue Blazes, the Michigan +Man-Killer," "The Ugliest Horse Alive," "Alpena's Equine Outlaw"; these +were some of the head-lines. The Perkins method had borne fruit. + +When purchasers for a four-legged hurricane could no longer be found, +Blue Blazes was sent up the lake to an obscure little port where they +have only a Tuesday and Friday steamer, and where the blue roan's record +was unknown. Horses were in demand there. In fact, Blue Blazes was sold +almost before he had been led down the gang-plank. + +"Look out for him," warned the steam-boat man; "he's a wicked brute." + +"Oh, I've got a little job that'll soon take the cussedness out of him," +said the purchaser, with a laugh. + +Blue Blazes was taken down into the gloomy fore-hold of a three-masted +lake schooner, harnessed securely between two long capstan bars, and set +to walking in an aimless circle while a creaking cable was wound about a +drum. At the other end of the cable were fastened, from time to time, +squared pine-logs weighing half a ton each. It was the business of Blue +Blazes to draw these timbers into the hold through a trap-door opening +in the stern. There was nothing to kick save the stout bar, and there +was no one to bite. Well out of reach stood a man who cracked a whip +and, when not swearing forcefully, shouted "Ged-a-a-ap!" + +For several uneventful days he was forced to endure this exasperating +condition of affairs with but a single break in the monotony. This came +on the first evening, when they tried to unhook him. The experiment +ended with half a blue-flannel shirt in the teeth of Blue Blazes and a +badly scared lumber-shover hiding in the fore-peak. After that they put +grain and water in buckets, which they cautiously shoved within his +reach. + +Of course there had to be an end to this. In due time the Ellen B. was +full of square timbers. The Captain notified the owner of Blue Blazes +that he might take his blankety-blanked horse out of the Ellen B.'s +fore-hold. The owner declined, and entrenched himself behind a pure +technicality. The Captain had hired from him the use of a horse; would +the Captain kindly deliver said horse to him, the owner, on the dock? It +was a spirited controversy, in which the horse-owner scored several +points. But the schooner captain by no means admitted defeat. + +"The Ellen B. gets under way inside of a half hour," said he. "If you +want your blankety-blanked horse you've got that much time to take him +away." + +"I stand on my rights," replied the horse-owner. "You sail off with my +property if you dare. Go ahead! Do it! Next time the Ellen B. puts in +here I'll libel her for damages." + +Yet in the face of this threat the Ellen B. cast off her hawsers, spread +her sails, and stood up the lake bound Chicagoward through the Straits +with Blue Blazes still on board. Not a man-jack of the crew would +venture into the fore-hold, where Blue Blazes was still harnessed to the +capstan bars. + +When he had been without water or grain for some twelve hours the wrath +in him, which had for days been growing more intense, boiled over. +Having voiced his rage in raucous squeals, he took to chewing the +bridle-strap and to kicking the whiffle-tree. The deck watch gazed down +at him in awe. The watch below, separated from him only by a thin +partition, expressed profane disapproval of shipping such a passenger. + +There was no sleep on the Ellen B. that night. About four in the morning +the continued effort of Blue Blazes met with reward. The halter-strap +parted, and the stout oak whiffle-tree was splintered into many pieces. +For some minutes Blue Blazes explored the hold until he found the +gang-plank leading upward. + +His appearance on the deck of the Ellen B. caused something like a +panic. The man at the wheel abandoned his post, and as he started for +the cross-trees let loose a yell which brought up all hands. Blue Blazes +charged them with open mouth. Not a man hesitated to jump for the +rigging. The schooner's head came up into the wind, the jib-sheet blocks +rattled idly and the booms swung lazily across the deck, just grazing +the ears of Blue Blazes. + +How long the roan might have held the deck had not his thirst been +greater than his hate cannot be told. Water was what he needed most, for +his throat seemed burning, and just overside was an immensity of water. +So he leaped. Probably the crew of the Ellen B. believe to this day that +they escaped by a miracle from a devil-possessed horse who, finding them +beyond his reach, committed suicide. + +But Blue Blazes had no thought of self-destruction. After swallowing as +much lake water as was good for him he struck out boldly for the shore, +which was not more than half a mile distant, swimming easily in the +slight swell. Gaining the log-strewn beach, he found himself at the +edge of one of those ghostly, fire-blasted tamarack forests which cover +great sections of the upper end of Michigan's southern peninsula. At +last he had escaped from the hateful bondage of man. Contentedly he fell +to cropping the coarse beach-grass which grew at the forest's edge. + +For many long days Blue Blazes revelled in his freedom, sometimes +wandering for miles into the woods, sometimes ranging the beach in +search of better pasturage. Water there was aplenty, but food was +difficult to find. He even browsed bushes and tree-twigs. At first he +expected momentarily to see appear one of his enemies, a man. He heard +imaginary voices in the beat of the waves, the creaking of wind-tossed +tree-tops, the caw of crows, or in the faint whistlings of distant +steamers. He began to look suspiciously behind knolls and stumps. But +for many miles up and down the coast was no port, and the only evidences +he had of man were the sails of passing schooners, or the trailing +smoke-plumes of steam-boats. + +Not since he could remember had Blue Blazes been so long without feeling +a whip laid over his back. Still, he was not wholly content. He felt a +strange uneasiness, was conscious of a longing other than a desire for a +good feed of oats. Although he knew it not, Blue Blazes, who hated men +as few horses have ever hated them, was lonesome. He yearned for human +society. + +When at last a man did appear on the beach the horse whirled and dashed +into the woods. But he ran only a short distance. Soon he picked his way +back to the lake shore and gazed curiously at the intruder. The man was +making a fire of driftwood. Blue Blazes approached him cautiously. The +man was bending over the fire, fanning it with his hat. In a moment he +looked up. + +A half minute, perhaps more, horse and man gazed at each other. Probably +it was a moment of great surprise for them both. Certainly it was for +the man. Suddenly Blue Blazes pricked his ears forward and whinnied. It +was an unmistakable whinny of friendliness if not of glad recognition. +The man on the beach had red hair--hair of the homeliest red you could +imagine. Also he had eyes of the color of ripe gooseberries. + + * * * * * + +"You see," said Lafe, in explaining the matter afterward, "I was hunting +for burls. I had seen 'em first when I was about sixteen. It was once +when a lot of us went up on the steamer from Saginaw after black bass. +We landed somewhere and went up a river into Mullet Lake. Well, one day +I got after a deer, and he led me off so far I couldn't find my way back +to camp. I walked through the woods for more'n a week before I came out +on the lake shore. It was while I was tramping around that I got into a +hardwood swamp where I saw them burls, not knowing what they were at the +time. + +"When I showed up at home my stepfather was tearing mad. He licked me +good and had me sent to the reform school. I ran away from there after a +while and struck the Perkins farm. That's where I got to know Blue +Blazes. After my row with Perkins I drifted about a lot until I got work +in this very furniture factory," whereupon Lafe swept a comprehensive +hand about, indicating the sumptuously appointed office. + +"Well, I worked here until I saw them take off the cars a lot of those +knots just like the ones I'd seen on the trees up in that swamp. 'What +are them things?' says I to the foreman. + +"'Burls,' says he. + +"'Worth anything?' says I. + +"'Are they?' says he. 'They're the most expensive pieces of wood you can +find anywhere in this country. Them's what we saw up into veneers.' + +"That was enough for me. I had a talk with the president of the company. +'If you can locate that swamp, young man,' says he, 'and it's got in it +what you say it has, I'll help you to make your fortune." + +"So I started up the lake to find the swamp. That's how I come to run +across Blue Blazes again. How he came to be there I couldn't guess and +didn't find out for months. He was as glad to see me as I was to see +him. They told me afterward that he was a man-killer. Man-killer +nothing! Why, I rode that horse for over a hundred miles down the +lake-shore with not a sign of a bridle on him. + +"Of course, he don't seem to like other men much, and he did lay up one +or two of my hostlers before I understood him. You see"--here Mr. Lafe, +furniture magnate, flushed consciously--"I can't have any but red-headed +men--red-headed like me, you know--about my stable, on account of Blue +Blazes. Course, it's foolish, but I guess the old fellow had a tough +time of it when he was young, same as I did; and now--well, he just +suits me, Blue Blazes does. I'd rather ride or drive him than any +thoroughbred in this country; and, by jinks, I'm bound he gets whatever +he wants, even if I have to lug in a lot of red-headed men from other +States." + + + + +CHIEFTAIN + +A STORY OF THE HEAVY DRAUGHT SERVICE + + +He was a three-quarter blood Norman, was Chieftain. You would have known +that by his deep, powerful chest, his chunky neck, his substantial, +shaggy-fetlocked legs. He had a family tree, registered sires, you know, +and, had he wished, could have read you a pedigree reaching back to Sir +Navarre (6893). + +Despite all this, Chieftain was guilty of no undue pride. Eight years in +the trucking business takes out of one all such nonsense. True, as a +three-year-old he had given himself some airs. There was small wonder +in that. He had been the boast of Keokuk County for a whole year. "We'll +show 'em what we can do in Indiana," the stockmaster had said as +Chieftain, his silver-white tail carefully done up in red flannel, was +led aboard the cars for shipment East. + +They are not unused to ton-weight horses in the neighborhood of the +Bull's Head, where the great sales-stables are. Still, when Chieftain +was brought out, his fine dappled coat shining like frosted steel in the +sunlight, and his splendid tail, which had been done up in straw crimps +over night, rippling and waving behind him, there was a great craning of +necks among the buyers of heavy draughts. + +"Gentlemen," the red-faced auctioneer had shouted, "here's a buster; one +of the kind you read about, wide as a wagon, with a leg on each corner. +There's a ton of him, a whole ton. Who'll start him at three hundred? +Why, he's as good as money in the bank." + +That had been Chieftain's introduction to the metropolis. But the +triple-hitch is a great leveller. In single harness, even though one +does pull a load, there is chance for individuality. One may toss one's +head; aye, prance a bit on a nipping morning. But get between the poles +of a breast-team, with a horse on either side, and a twelve-ton load at +the trace-ends, and--well, one soon forgets such vanities as pride of +champion sires, and one learns not to prance. + +In his eight years as inside horse of breast-team No. 47, Chieftain had +forgotten much about pedigree, but he had learned many other things. He +had come to know the precise moment when, in easing a heavy load down an +incline, it was safe to slacken away on the breeching and trot gently. +He could tell, merely by glancing at a rise in the roadway, whether a +slow, steady pull was needed, or if the time had come to stick in his +toe-calks and throw all of his two thousand pounds on the collar. He had +learned not to fret himself into a lather about strange noises, and not +to be over-particular as to the kind of company in which he found +himself working. Even though hitched up with a vicious Missouri Modoc on +one side and a raw, half collar-broken Kanuck on the other, he would do +his best to steady them down to the work. He had learned to stop at +crossings when a six-foot Broadway-squad officer held up one finger, and +to give way for no one else. He knew by heart all the road rules of the +crowded way, and he stood for his rights. + +[Illustration: He would do his best to steady them down to the work.] + +So, in stress of storm or quivering summer heat, did Chieftain toil +between the poles, hauling the piled-up truck, year in and year out, up +and down and across the city streets. And in time he had forgotten his +Norman blood, had forgotten that he was the great-grandson of Sir +Navarre. + +Some things there were, however, which Chieftain could not wholly +forget. These memories were not exactly clear, but, vague as they were, +they stuck. They had to do with fields of new grass, with the elastic +feel of dew-moistened turf under one's hoofs, with the enticing smell of +sweet clover in one's nostrils, the sound of gently moving leaves in +one's ears, and the sense that before, as well as behind, were long +hours of delicious leisure. + +It was only in the afternoons that these memories troubled Chieftain. In +the morning one feels fresh and strong and contented, and, when one has +time for any thought at all, there are comforting reflections that in +the nose-bags, swung under the truck-seat, are eight quarts of good +oats, and that noon must come some time or other. + +But along about three o'clock of a July day, with stabling time too far +away to be thought of, when there was nothing to do but to stand +patiently in the glare of the sun-baked freight-yard, while Tim and his +helper loaded on case after case and barrel after barrel, then it was +that Chieftain could not help thinking about the fields of new grass, +and other things connected with his colt days. + +Sometimes, when he was plodding doggedly over the hard pavements, with +every foot-fall jarring tired muscles, he would think how nice it would +be, just for a week or so, to tread again that yielding turf he had +known such a long, long time ago. Then, perhaps, he would slacken just a +bit on the traces, and Tim would give that queer, shrill chirrup of +his, adding, sympathetically: "Come, me bye, come ahn!" Then Chieftain +would tighten the traces in an instant, giving his whole attention to +the business of keeping them taut and of placing each iron-shod hoof +just where was the surest footing. + +In this last you may imagine there is no knack. Perhaps you think it is +done off-hand. Well, it isn't. Ask any experienced draught-horse used to +city trucking. He will tell you that wet cobble-stones, smoothed by much +wear and greased with street slime, cannot be travelled heedlessly. +Either the heel or the toe calks must find a crevice somewhere. If they +do not, you are apt to go on your knees or slide on your haunches. +Flat-rail car-tracks give you unexpected side slips. So do the raised +rims of man-hole covers. But when it comes to wet asphalt--your calks +will not help you there. It's just a case of nice balancing and +trusting to luck. + +Much, of course, depends on the man at the other end of the lines. In +this particular Chieftain was fortunate, for a better driver than Tim +Doyle did not handle leather for the company. Even "the old man"--the +stable-boss--had been known to say as much. + +Chieftain had taken a liking to Tim the first day they turned out +together, when Chieftain was new to the city and to trucking. Driver +Doyle's fondness for Chieftain was of slower growth. In those days there +were other claimants for Tim's affections than his horses. There was a +Mrs. Doyle, for instance. Sometimes Chieftain saw her when Tim drove the +truck anywhere in the vicinity of the flat-house in which he lived. She +would come out and look at the team, and Tim would tell what fine horses +he had. There was a young Tim, too, a big, growing boy, who would now +and then ride on the truck with his father. + +One day--it was during Chieftain's fifth year in the service--something +had happened to Mrs. Doyle. Tim had not driven for three days that time, +and when he did come back he was a very sober Tim. He told Chieftain all +about it, because he had no one else to tell. Soon after this young Tim, +who had grown up, went away somewhere, and from that time on the +friendship between old Tim and Chieftain became closer than ever. Tim +spent more and more of his time at the stable, until at the end, he +fixed himself a bunk in the night watchman's office and made it his +home. + +So, for three years or more Chieftain had always had a good-night pat on +the flank from Tim, and in the morning, after the currying and rubbing, +they had a little friendly banter, in the way of love-slaps from Tim +and good-natured nosings from Chieftain. Perhaps many of Tim's +confidences were given half in jest, and perhaps Chieftain sometimes +thought that Tim was a bit slow in perception, but, all in all, each +understood the other, even better than either realized. + +Of course, Chieftain could not tell Tim of all those vague longings +which had to do with new grass and springy turf, nor could he know that +Tim had similar longings. These thoughts each kept to himself. But if +Chieftain was of Norman blood, a horse whose noble sires had ranged +pasture and paddock free from rein or trace, Tim was a Doyle whose +father and grandfather had lived close to the good green sod, and had +done their toil in the open, with the cool and calm of the country to +soothe and revive them. + +Of such delights as these both Chieftain and Tim had tasted scantily, +hurriedly, in youth; and for them, in the lapses of the daily grind, +both yearned, each after his own fashion. + +And, each in his way, Tim and Chieftain were philosophers. As the years +had come and gone, toil-filled and uneventful, the character of the man +had ripened and mellowed, the disposition of the horse had settled and +sweetened. + +In his earlier days Tim had been ready to smash a wheel or lose one, to +demand right of way with profane unction, and to back his word with +whip, fist, or bale-hook. But he had learned to yield an inch on +occasion and to use the soft word. + +Chieftain, too, in his first years between the poles, had sometimes been +impatient with the untrained mates who from time to time joined the +team. He had taken part in mane-biting and trace-kicking, especially on +days when the loads were heavy and the flies thick, conditions which try +the best of horse tempers. But he had steadied down into a pole-horse +who could set an example that was worth more than all the six-foot +lashes ever tied to a whip-stock. + +It was during the spring of Chieftain's eighth year with the company +that things really began to happen. First there came rheumatism to Tim. +Trucking uses up men as well as horses, you know. While it is the hard +work and the heavy feeding of oats which burn out the animal, it is +generally the exposure and the hard drinking which do for the men. Tim, +however, was always moderate in his use of liquor, so he lasted longer +than most drivers. But at one-and-forty the wearing of rain-soaked +clothes called for reprisal. One wet May morning, after vainly trying to +hobble about the stable, Tim, with a bottle of horse liniment under his +arm, gave it up and went back to his bunk. + +Team No. 47 went out that day with a new driver, a cousin of the +stable-boss, who had never handled anything better than common, +light-weight express horses. How Chieftain did miss Tim those next few +days! The new man was slow at loading, and, to make up the time, he cut +short their dinner-hour. Now it is not the wise thing to hurry horses +who have just eaten eight quarts of oats. The team finished the day well +blown, and in a condition generally bad. Next day the new man let the +off horse stumble, and there was a pair of barked knees to be doctored. + +Matters went from bad to worse, until on the fourth day came the climax. +Sludge acid is an innocent-appearing liquid which sometimes stands in +pools near gas-works. Good drivers know enough to avoid it. It is bad +for the hoofs. The new man still had many things to learn, and this +happened to be one of them. In the morning Team 47 was disabled. The +company's veterinary looked at the spongy hoofs and remarked to the +stable-boss: "About three weeks on the farm will fix 'em all right, I +guess; but I should advise you to chuck that new driver out of the +window; he's too expensive for us." + +That was how Chieftain's yearnings happened to be gratified at last. The +company, it seems, has a big farm, somewhere "up State," to which +disabled horses are sent for rest and recuperation. Invalided drivers +must look out for themselves. You can get a hundred truck drivers by +hanging out a sign: good draught horses are to be had only for a price. + +Chieftain and Tim parted with mutual misgivings. To a younger horse the +long ride in the partly open stock-car might have been a novelty, but to +Chieftain, accustomed to ferries and the sight of all manner of wheeled +things, it was without new sensations. + +At the end of the ride--ah, that was different. There were the sweet, +fresh fields, the springy green turf, the trees--all just as he had +dreamed a hundred times. Halterless and shoe-freed, Chieftain pranced +about the pasture for all the world like a two-year-old. With head and +tail up he ranged the field. He even tried a roll on the grass. Then, +when he was tired, he wandered about, nibbling now and then at a +tempting bunch of grass, but mainly exulting in his freedom. There were +other company horses in the field, but most of them were busy grazing. +Each was disabled in some way. One was half foundered, one had a +leg-sprain, another swollen joints; but hoof complaints, such as +toe-cracks, quarter-cracks, brittle feet, and the like, were the most +frequent ills. They were not a cheerful lot, and they were unsociable. + +Chieftain went ambling off by himself, and in due time made acquaintance +with a rather gaunt, weather-beaten sorrel who hung his head lonesomely +over the fence from an adjoining pasture. He seemed grateful for the +notice taken of him by the big Norman, and soon they were the best of +friends. For hours they stood with their muzzles close together or their +necks crossed in fraternal fashion, swapping horse gossip after the +manner of their kind. + +The sorrel, it appeared, was farm-bred and farm-reared. He knew little +or nothing of pavements and city hauling. All his years had been spent +in the country. In spite of his bulging ribs and unkempt coat Chieftain +almost envied him. What a fine thing it must be to live as the sorrel +lived, to crop the new grass, to feel the turf under your feet, and to +drink, instead of the hard stuff one gets from the hydrant, the soft +sweet brook water, to drink it standing fetlock deep in the +hoof-soothing mud! But the sorrel was lacking in enthusiasm for country +life. + +About the fifth day of his rustication the sharp edge of Chieftain's +appreciation became dulled. He discovered that pasture life was wanting +in variety. Also he missed his oats. When one has been accustomed to +twenty-four quarts a day, and hay besides, grass seems a mild +substitute. Graze industriously as he would, it was hard to get enough. +The sorrel, however, was sure Chieftain would get used to all that. + +In time, of course, the talk turned to the pulling of heavy loads. The +sorrel mentioned the yanking of a hay-rick, laden with two tons of +clover, from the far meadow lot to the barn. Two tons! Chieftain snorted +in mild disdain. Had not his team often swung down Broadway with sixteen +tons on the truck? To be sure, narrow tires and soft-going made a +difference. + +The country horse suggested that dragging a breaking plough through old +sod was strenuous employment. Yes, it might be, but had the sorrel ever +tightened the traces for a dash up a ferry bridgeway when the tide was +out? No, the sorrel had done his hauling on land. He had never ridden on +boats. He had heard them, though. They were noisy things, almost as +noisy as an old Buckeye mower going over a stony field. + +[Illustration: Then let him snake a truck down West Street.] + +Noise! Would the sorrel like to know what noise really was? Then let him +be hooked into a triple Boston backing hitch and snake a truck down West +Street, with the whiffle-trees slatting in front of him, the +spreader-bar rapping jig time on the poles, and the gongs of street-cars +and automobiles and fire-engines and ambulances all going at once. +Noise? Let him mix in a Canal Street jam or back up for a load on a +North River pier! + +And as Chieftain recalled these things the contrast of the pasture's +oppressive stillness to the lively roar of the familiar streets came +home to him. Who was taking his place between the poles of Team 47? Had +they put one of those cheeky Clydes in his old stall? He would not care +to lose that stall. It was the best on the second floor. It had a window +in it, and Sundays he could see everything that went on in the street +below. He could even look into the front rooms of the tenements across +the way. There was a little girl over there who interested Chieftain +greatly. She was trying to raise some sort of a flower in a tin can +which she kept on the window-ledge. She often waved her hand at +Chieftain. + +Then there was poor Tim Doyle. Good old Tim! Where was another driver +like him? He made you work, Tim did, but he looked out for you all the +time. Always on the watch, was Tim, for galled spots, chafing sores, +hoof-pricks, and things like that. If he could get them he would put on +fresh collar-pads every week. And how carefully he would cover you up +when you were on the forward end of a ferryboat in stormy weather. No +tossing the blanket over your back from Tim. No, sir! It was always +doubled about your neck and chest, just where you most need protection +when you're steaming hot and the wind is raw. How many drivers warmed +the bits on a cold morning or rinsed out your mouth in hot weather? Who, +but Tim could drive a breast team through a---- + +But just here Chieftain heard a shrill, familiar whistle, and in a +moment, with as much speed as his heavy build allowed, he was making his +way across the field to where a short, stocky man with a broad grin +cleaving his face, was climbing the pasture-fence. It was Tim Doyle +himself. + +Tim, it seems, had so bothered the stable-boss with questions about the +farm, its location, distance from the city, and general management, that +at last that autocrat had said: "See here, Doyle, if you want to go up +there just say so and I'll send you as car hostler with the next batch. +I'll give you a note to the farm superintendent. Guess he'll let you +hang around for a week or so." + +"I'll go up as hostler," said Tim, "but you just say in that there note +that Tim Doyle pays his own way after he gets there." + +In that way it was settled. For some four days Tim appeared to enjoy it +greatly. Most of his time he spent sitting on the pasture-fence, smoking +his pipe and watching the grazing horses. To Chieftain alone he brought +great bunches of clover. + +About the fifth day Tim grew restive. He had examined Chieftain's hoofs +and pronounced them well healed, but the superintendent said that it +would be a week before he should be ready to send another lot of horses +back to the city. + +"How far is it by road?" asked Tim. + +"Oh, two hundred miles or so," said the superintendent. + +"Why not let me take Chieftain down that way? It'd be cheaper'n shippin' +him, an' do him good." + +The superintendent only laughed and said he would ship Chieftain with +the others, when he was ready. + +That evening Tim sat on the bench before the farm-house and smoked his +pipe until everyone else had gone to bed. The moon had risen, big and +yellow. In a pond behind the stables it seemed as if ten thousand frogs +had joined in one grand chorus. They were singing their mating song, if +you know what that is. It is not altogether a cheerful or harmonious +effort. Next to the soughing of a November wind it is, perhaps, the most +dismally lonesome sound in nature. + +For two hours Tim Doyle smoked and thought and listened. Then he knocked +the ashes out of his pipe and decided that he had been long enough in +the country. He would walk to the station, two miles away, and take the +midnight train to the city. As he went down the farm road skirting the +pasture he saw in the moonlight the sheds where the horses went at night +for shelter. Moved by some sudden whim, he stopped and whistled. A +moment later a big horse appeared from under the shed and came toward +him, neighing gratefully. It was Chieftain. + +"Well, Chieftain, me bye, I'll be lavin' ye for a spell. But I'll have +yer old stall ready against yer comin' back. Good-by, laddie," and with +this Tim patted Chieftain on the nose and started down the road. He had +gone but a few steps when he heard Chieftain whinny. Tim stopped +irresolutely, and then went on. Again came the call of the horse. There +was no misunderstanding its meaning. Tim walked back to the fence. + +In the morning the farm superintendent found on the door-sill a roughly +pencilled note which read: + +"Hav goan bak to the sitty P S chefetun warnted to goe so I tuk him. Tim +Doyle." + +They were ten days on the road, ten delightful days of irresponsible +vagabondism. Sometimes Tim rode on Chieftain's back and sometimes he +walked beside him. At night they took shelter in any stable that was +handy. Tim invested in a bridle and saddle blanket. Also he bought oats +and hay for Chieftain. The big Norman followed his own will, stopping to +graze by the roadside whenever he wished. Together they drank from +brooks and springs. Between them was perfect comradeship. Each was in +holiday mood and each enjoyed the outing to the fullest. As they passed +through towns they attracted no little attention, for outside of the +city 2,000-pound horses are seldom seen, and there were many admirers +of Chieftain's splendid proportions. Tim had many offers from shrewd +horse-dealers. + +"Ye would, eh? A whole hundred dollars!" Tim would answer with fine +sarcasm. "Now, wouldn't that be too much, don't ye think? My, my, what a +generous mon it is! G'wan, Chieftain, er Mister Car-na-gy here'll be +after givin' us a lib'ry." + +Chieftain, and Tim, too, for that matter, were nearer actual freedom +than ever before. For years the big Norman had used his magnificent +muscles only for straining at the traces. He had trod only the hard +pavements. Now, he put forth his glorious strength at leisure, moving +along the pleasant country roads at his own gait, and being guided only +when a turning was to be made. + +Fine as it all was, however, as they drew near to the city both horse +and driver became eager to reach their old quarters. Tim was, for he has +said so. As for Chieftain--let the stable-boss, who knows horse-nature +better than most men know themselves, tell that part of the story. + +"Bigger lunatics than them two, Tim Doyle and old Chieftain, I never set +eyes on," he says. "I was standin' down here by the double doors +watchin' some of the day-teams unhook when I looks up the street on a +sudden. An' there, tail an' head up like he was a 'leven-hundred-pound +Kentucky hunter 'stead of heavy-weight draught, comes that old +Chieftain, a whinnyin' like a three-year-old. An' on his back, mind you, +old Tim Doyle, grinnin' away 'sif he was Tod Sloan finishin' first at +the Brooklyn Handicap. Tickled? I never see a horse show anything so +plain in all my life. He just streaked it up that runway and into his +old stall like he was a prodigal son come back from furren parts. + +"Yes, Tim he's out on the truck with his old team. Tim don't have to +drive nowadays, you know. Brother of his that was in the contractin' +business died about three months ago an' left Tim quite a pile. Tim, he +says he guesses the money won't take no hurt in the bank and that some +day, when he an' Chieftain git ready to retire, maybe it'll come in +handy." + + + + +BARNACLES + +WHO MUTINIED FOR GOOD CAUSE + + +With his coming to Sculpin Point there was begun for Barnacles the most +surprising period of a more or less useful career which had been filled +with unusual equine activities. For Barnacles was a horse, a white horse +of unguessed breed and uncertain age. + +Most likely it was not, but it may have been, Barnacles's first intimate +connection with an affair of the heart. Said affair was between Captain +Bastabol Bean, owner and occupant of Sculpin Point, and Mrs. Stashia +Buckett, the unlamenting relict of the late Hosea Buckett. + +Mrs. Buckett it was who induced Captain Bastabol Bean to purchase a +horse. Captain Bean, you will understand, had just won the affections of +the plump Mrs. Buckett. Also he had, with a sailor's ignorance of +feminine ways, presumed to settle off-hand the details of the coming +nuptials. + +"I'll sail over in the dory Monday afternoon," said he, "and take you +back with me to Sculpin Point. You can have your dunnage sent over later +by team. In the evenin' we'll have a shore chaplain come 'round an' make +the splice." + +"Cap'n Bean," replied the rotund Stashia, "we won't do any of them +things, not one." + +"Wha-a-at!" gasped the Captain. + +"Have you ever been married, Cap'n Bean?" + +"N-n-no, my dear." + +"Well, I have, and I guess I know how it ought to be done. You'll have +the minister come here, and here _you'll_ come to marry me. You won't +come in no dory, either. Catch me puttin' my two hundred an' thirty +pounds into a little boat like that. You'll drive over here with a +horse, like a respectable person, and you'll drive back with me, by land +and past Sarepta Tucker's house so's she can see." + +Now for more than thirty years Bastabol Bean, as master of coasting +schooners up and down the Atlantic seaboard, had given orders. He had +taken none, except the formal directions of owners. He did not propose +to begin taking them now, not even from such an altogether charming +person as Stashia Buckett. This much he said. Then he added: + +"Stashia, I give in about coming here to marry you; that seems no more +than fair. But I'll come in a dory and you'll go back in a dory." + +"Then you needn't come at all, Cap'n Bastabol Bean." + +Argue and plead as he might, this was her ultimatum. + +"But, Stashia, I 'ain't got a horse, never owned one an' never handled +one, and you know it," urged the Captain. + +"Then it's high time you had a horse and knew how to drive him. Besides, +if I go to Sculpin Point I shall want to come to the village once in a +while. I sha'n't sail and I sha'n't walk. If I can't ride like a lady I +don't go to the Point." + +The inevitable happened. Captain Bean promised to buy a horse next day. +Hence his visit to Jed Holden and his introduction to Barnacles, as the +Captain immediately named him. + +As one who inspects an unfamiliar object, Captain Bean looked dazedly at +Barnacles. At the same time Barnacles inspected the Captain. With head +lowered to knee level, with ears cocked forward, nostrils sniffing and +under-lip twitching almost as if he meant to laugh, Barnacles eyed his +prospective owner. In common with most intelligent horses, he had an +almost human way of expressing curiosity. + +Captain Bean squirmed under the gaze of Barnacles's big, calm eyes for a +moment, and then shifted his position. + +"What in time does he want anyway, Jed?" demanded the Captain. + +"Wants to git acquainted, that's all, Cap'n. Mighty knowin' hoss, he is. +Now some hosses don't take notice of anything. They're jest naturally +dumb. Then agin you'll find hosses that seem to know every blamed word +you say. Them's the kind of hosses that's wuth havin." + +"S'pose he knows all the ropes, Jed?" + +"I should say he did, Cap'n. If there's anything that hoss ain't done in +his day I don't know what 'tis. Near's I can find out he's tried every +kind of work, in or out of traces, that you could think of." + +"Sho!" The Captain was now looking at the old white horse in an +interested manner. + +"Yes, sir, that's a remarkable hoss," continued the now enthusiastic Mr. +Holden. "He's been in the cavalry service, for he knows the bugle calls +like a book. He's travelled with a circus--ain't no more afraid of +elephants than I be. He's run on a fire engine--know that 'cause he +wants to chase old Reliance every time she turns out. He's been a +street-car hoss, too. You jest ring a door gong behind him twice an' see +how quick he'll dig in his toes. The feller I got him off'n said he knew +of his havin' been used on a milk wagon, a pedler's cart and a hack. +Fact is, he's an all round worker." + +"Must be some old by your tell," suggested the Captain. "Sure his +timbers are all sound?" + +"Dun'no' 'bout his timbers, Cap'n, but as fer wind an' limb you won't +find a sounder hoss, of his age, in this county. Course, I'm not sellin' +him fer a four-year-old. But for your work, joggin' from the P'int into +the village an' back once or twice a week, I sh'd say he was jest the +ticket; an' forty-five, harness an' all as he stands, is dirt cheap." + +Again Captain Bean tried to look critically at the white horse, but once +more he met that calm, curious gaze and the attempt was hardly a +success. However, the Captain squinted solemnly over Barnacles's withers +and remarked: + +"Yes, he has got some good lines, as you say, though you wouldn't +hardly call him clipper built. Not much sheer for'ard an' a leetle too +much aft, eh?" + +At this criticism Jed snorted mirthfully. + +"Oh, I s'pose he's all right," quickly added the Captain. "Fact is, I +ain't never paid much attention to horses, bein' on the water so much. +You're sure he'll mind his helm, Jed?" + +"Oh, he'll go where you p'int him." + +"Won't drag anchor, will he?" + +"Stand all day if you'll let him." + +"Well, Jed, I'm ready to sign articles, I guess." + +It was about noon that a stable-boy delivered Barnacles at Sculpin +Point. His arrival caused Lank Peters to suspend peeling the potatoes +for dinner and demand explanation. + +"Who's the hoss for, Cap'n?" asked Lank. + +It was a question that Captain Bean had been dreading for two hours. +When he had given up coasting, bought the strip of Massachusetts +seashore known as Sculpin Point, built a comfortable cottage on it and +settled down within sight and sound of the salt water, he had brought +with him Lank Peters, who for a dozen years had presided over the galley +in the Captain's ship. + +More than a mere sea-cook was Lank Peters to Captain Bean. He was +confidential friend, advising philosopher, and mate of Sculpin Point. +Yet from Lank had the Captain carefully concealed all knowledge of his +affair with the Widow Buckett. The time of confession was at hand. + +In his own way and with a directness peculiar to all his acts, did +Captain Bean admit the full sum of his rashness, adding, thoughtfully: +"I s'pose you won't have to do much cookin' after Stashia comes; but +you'll still be mate, Lank, and there'll be plenty to keep you busy on +the P'int." + +Quietly and with no show of emotion, as befitted a sea-cook and a +philosopher, Melankthon Peters heard these revelations. If he had his +prejudices as to the wisdom or folly of marrying widows, he said no +word. But in the matter of Barnacles he felt more free to express +something of his uneasiness. + +"I didn't ship for no hostler, Cap'n, an' I guess I'll make a poor fist +at it, but I'll do my best," he said. + +"Guess we'll manage him between us, Lank," cheerfully responded the +Captain. "I ain't got much use for horses myself; but as I said, +Stashia, she's down on boats." + +"Kinder sot in her idees, ain't she, Cap'n?" insinuated Lank. + +"Well, kinder," the Captain admitted. + +Lank permitted himself to chuckle guardedly. Captain Bastabol Bean, as +an innumerable number of sailor-men had learned, was a person who +generally had his own way. Intuitively the Captain understood that Lank +had guessed of his surrender. A grim smile was barely suggested by the +wrinkles about his mouth and eyes. + +"Lank," he said, "the Widow Buckett an' me had some little argument over +this horse business an'--an'--I give in. She told me flat she wouldn't +come to the P'int if I tried to fetch her by water in the dory. Well, I +want Stashia mighty bad; for she's a fine woman, Lank, a mighty fine +woman, as you'll say when you know her. So I promised to bring her home +by land and with a horse. I'm bound to do it, too. But by time!" Here +the Captain suddenly slapped his knee. "I've just been struck with a +notion. Lank, I'm going to see what you think of it." + +For an hour Captain and mate sat in the sun, smoked their pipes and +talked earnestly. Then they separated. Lank began a close study of +Barnacles's complicated rigging. The Captain tramped off toward the +village. + +Late in the afternoon the Captain returned riding in a sidebar buggy +with a man. Behind the buggy they towed a skeleton lumber wagon--four +wheels connected by an extension pole. The man drove away in the sidebar +leaving the Captain and the lumber wagon. + +Barnacles, who had been moored to a kedge-anchor, watched the next day's +proceedings with interest. He saw the Captain and Lank drag up from the +beach the twenty-foot dory and hoist it up between the wheels. Through +the forward part of the keelson they bored a hole for the king-bolt. +With nut-bolts they fastened the stern to the rear axle, adding some +very seamanlike lashings to stay the boat in place. As finishing touches +they painted the upper strakes of the dory white, giving to the lower +part and to the running-gear of the cart a coat of sea-green. + +Barnacles was experienced, but a vehicle such as this amphibious product +of Sculpin Point he had never before seen. With ears pointed and +nostrils palpitating from curiosity, he was led up to the boat-bodied +wagon. Reluctantly he backed under the raised shafts. The practice-hitch +was enlivened by a monologue, on the part of Captain Bean, which ran +something like this: + +"Now, Lank, pass aft that backstay [the trace] and belay; no, not there! +Belay to that little yard-arm [whiffle-tree]. Got it through the +lazy-jack [trace-bearer]? Now reeve your jib-sheets [lines] through them +dead-eyes [hame rings] and pass 'em aft. Now where in Tophet does this +thingumbob [holdback] go? Give it a turn around the port bowsprit +[shaft]. There, guess everything's taut." + +The Captain stood off to take an admiring glance at the turnout. + +"She's down by the bow some, Lank, but I guess she'll lighten when we +get aboard. See what you think." + +Lank's inspection caused him to meditate and scratch his head. Finally +he gave his verdict: "From midships aft she looks as trim as a liner, +but from midships for'ard she looks scousy, like a Norwegian tramp after +a v'yage round The Horn." + +"Color of old Barnacles don't suit, eh? No, it don't, that's so. But I +couldn't find no green an' white horse, Lank." + +"Couldn't we paint him up a leetle, Cap'n?" + +"By Sancho, I never thought of that!" exclaimed Captain Bean. "Course we +can; git a string an' we'll strike a water-line on him." + +With no more ado than as if the thing was quite usual, the preparations +for carrying out this indignity were begun. Perhaps the victim thought +it a new kind of grooming, for he made no protest. Half an hour later +old Barnacles, from about the middle of his barrel down to his shoes, +was painted a beautiful sea-green. Like some resplendent marine monster +shone the lower half of him. It may have been a trifle bizarre, but, +with the sun on the fresh paint, the effect was unmistakably striking. +Besides, his color now matched that of the dory's with startling +exactness. + +"That's what I call real ship-shape," declared Captain Bean, viewing +the result. "Got any more notions, Lank?" + +"Strikes me we ought to ship a mast so's we could rig a sprit-sail in +case the old horse should give out, Cap'n." + +"We'll do it, Lank; fust rate idee!" + +So a mast and sprit-sail were rigged in the dory. Also the lines were +lengthened with rope, that the Captain might steer from the stern +sheets. + +"She's as fine a land-goin' craft as ever I see anywhere," said the +Captain, which was certainly no extravagant statement. + +How Captain Bean and his mate steered the equipage from Sculpin Point to +the village, how they were cheered and hooted along the route, how they +ran into the yard of the Metropolitan Livery Stable as a port of refuge, +how the Captain escaped to the home of Widow Buckett, how the "splicin'" +was accomplished--these are details which must be slighted. + +The climax came when the newly made Mrs. Bastabol Buckett Bean, her +plump hand resting affectionately on the sleeve of the Captain's best +blue broadcloth coat, said, cooingly: "Now, Cap'n, I'm ready to drive to +Sculpin Point." + +"All right, Stashia, Lank's waitin' for us at the front door with the +craft." + +At first sight of the boat on wheels Mrs. Bean could do no more than +attempt, by means of indistinct ejaculation, to express her obvious +emotion. She noted the grinning crowd of villagers, Sarepta Tucker among +them. She saw the white and green dory with its mast, and with Lank, +villainously smiling, at the top of a step-ladder which had been leaned +against the boat; she saw the green wheels, and the verdant gorgeousness +of Barnacles's lower half. For a moment she gazed at the fantastic +equipage and spoke not. Then she slammed the front door with an +indignant bang, marched back into the sitting-room and threw herself on +the haircloth sofa with an abandon that carried away half a dozen +springs. + +For the first hour she reiterated, between vast sobs, that Captain Bean +was a soulless wretch, that she would never set foot on Sculpin Point, +and that she would die there on the sofa rather than ride in such an +outlandish rig. + +Many a time had Captain Bean weathered Hatteras in a southeaster, but +never had he met such a storm of feminine fury as this. However, he +stood by like a man, putting in soothing words of explanation and +endearment whenever a lull gave opportunity. + +Toward evening the storm spent itself. The disturbed Stashia became +somewhat calm. Eventually she laughed hysterically at the Captain's +arguments, and in the end she compromised. Not by day would she enter +the dory wagon, but late in the evening she would swallow her pride and +go, just to please the Captain. + +Thus it was that soon after ten o'clock, when the village folks had +laughed their fill and gone away, the new Mrs. Bean climbed the +step-ladder, bestowed herself unhandily on the midship thwart and, with +Lank on lookout in the bow, and Captain Bean handling the reins from the +stern sheets, the honeymoon chariot got under way. + +By the time they reached the Shell Road the gait of the dejected +Barnacles had dwindled to a deliberate walk which all of Lank's urgings +could not hasten. It was a soft July night with a brisk offshore breeze +and the moon had come up out of the sea to silver the highway and lay a +strip of milk-white carpet over the waves. + +"Ahoy there, Lank!" shouted the bridegroom. "Can't we do better'n this? +Ain't hardly got steerage-way on her." + +"Can't budge him, Cap'n. Hadn't we better shake-out the sprit-sail; +wind's fair abeam." + +"Yes, shake it out, Lank." + +Mrs. Bean's feeble protest was unheeded. As the night wind caught the +sail and rounded it out the flapping caused old Barnacles to cast an +investigating glance behind him. One look at the terrible white thing +which loomed menacingly above him was enough. He decided to bolt. Bolt +he did to the best of his ability, all obstacles being considered. A +down grade in the Shell Road, where it dipped toward the shore, helped +things along. Barnacles tightened the traces, the sprit-sail did its +share, and in an amazingly short time the odd vehicle was spinning +toward Sculpin Point at a ten-knot gait. Desperately Mrs. Bean gripped +the gunwale and lustily she screamed: + +"Whoa, whoa! Stop him, Captain, stop him! He'll smash us all to pieces!" + +"Set right still, Stashia, an' trim ship. I've got the helm," responded +the Captain, who had set his jaws and was tugging at the rope lines. + +"Breakers ahead, sir!" shouted Lank at this juncture. + +Sure enough, not fifty yards ahead, the Shell Road turned sharply away +from the edge of the beach to make a detour by which Sculpin Point was +cut off. + +"I see 'em, Lank." + +"Think we can come about, Cap'n?" asked Lank, anxiously. + +"Ain't goin to try, Lank. I'm layin' a straight course for home. Stand +by to bail." + +How they could possibly escape capsizing Lank could not understand +until, just as Barnacles was about to make the turn, he saw the Captain +tighten the right-hand rein until it was as taut as a weatherstay. Of +necessity Barnacles made no turn, and there was no upset. Something +equally exciting happened, though. + +Leaving the road with a speed which he had not equalled since the days +when he had figured in the "The Grand Hippodrome Races," his sea-green +legs quickened by the impetus of the affair behind him, Barnacles +cleared the narrow strip of beach-grass at a jump. Another leap and he +was hock deep in the surf. Still another, and he split a roller with his +white nose. + +With a dull chug, a resonant thump, and an impetuous splash the dory +entered its accustomed element, lifting some three gallons of salt water +neatly over the bows. Lank ducked. The unsuspecting Stashia did not, +and the flying brine struck fairly under her ample chin. + +"Ug-g-g-gh! Oh! Oh! H-h-h-elp!" spluttered the startled bride, and tried +to get on her feet. + +"Sit down!" roared Captain Bean. Vehemently Stashia sat. + +"W-w-w-we'll all b-b-be d-d-drowned, drowned!" she wailed. + +"Not much we won't, Stashia. We're all right now, and we ain't goin' to +have our necks broke by no fool horse, either. Trim in the sheet, Lank, +an' then take that bailin' scoop." The Captain was now calmly confident +and thoroughly at home. + +Drenched, cowed and trembling, the newly made Mrs. Bean clung +despairingly to the thwart, fully as terrified as the plunging +Barnacles, who struck out wildly with his green legs, and snorted every +time a wave hit him. But the lines held up his head and kept his nose +pointing straight for the little beach on Sculpin Point, perhaps a +quarter of a mile distant. + +Somewhat heavy weather the deep-laden dory made of it, and in spite of +Lank's vigorous bailing the water sloshed around Mrs. Bean's boot-tops, +yet in time the sail and Barnacles brought them safely home. + +"'Twa'n't exactly the kind of honeymoon trip I'd planned, Stashia," +commented the Captain, as he and Lank steadied the bride's dripping bulk +down the step-ladder, "and we did do some sailin', spite of ourselves; +but we had a horse in front an' wheels under us all the way, just as I +promised." + + + + +BLACK EAGLE + +WHO ONCE RULED THE RANGES + + +Of his sire and dam there is no record. All that is known is that he was +raised on a Kentucky stock farm. Perhaps he was a son of Hanover, but +Hanoverian or no, he was a thoroughbred. In the ordinary course of +events he would have been tried out with the other three-year olds for +the big meet on Churchill Downs. In the hands of a good trainer he might +have carried to victory the silk of some great stable and had his name +printed in the sporting almanacs to this day. + +But there was about Black Eagle nothing ordinary, either in his blood +or in his career. He was born for the part he played. So at three, +instead of being entered in his class at Louisville, it happened that he +was shipped West, where his fate waited. + +No more comely three year old ever took the Santa Fe trail. Although he +stood but thirteen hands and tipped the beam at scarcely twelve hundred +weight, you might have guessed him to be taller by two hands. The +deception lay in the way he carried his shapely head and in the manner +in which his arched neck tapered from the well-placed shoulders. + +A horseman would have said that he had a "perfect barrel," meaning that +his ribs were well rounded. His very gait was an embodied essay on +graceful pride. As for his coat, save for a white star just in the +middle of his forehead, it was as black and sleek as the nap on a new +silk hat. After a good rubbing he was so shiny that at a distance you +might have thought him starched and ironed and newly come from the +laundry. + +His arrival at Bar L Ranch made no great stir, however. They were not +connoisseurs of good blood and sleek coats at the Bar L outfit. They +were busy folks who most needed tough animals that could lope off fifty +miles at a stretch. They wanted horses whose education included the fine +art of knowing when to settle back on the rope and dig in toes. It was +not a question as to how fast you could do your seven furlongs. It was +more important to know if you could make yourself useful at a round-up. + +"'Nother bunch o' them green Eastern horses," grumbled the ranch boss as +the lot was turned into a corral. "But that black fellow'd make a +rustler's mouth water, eh, Lefty?" In answer to which the said Lefty, +being a man little given to speech, grunted. + +"We'll brand 'em in the mornin'," added the ranch boss. + +Now most steers and all horses object to the branding process. Even the +spiritless little Indian ponies, accustomed to many ingenious kinds of +abuse, rebel at this. A meek-eyed mule, on whom humility rests as an +all-covering robe, must be properly roped before submitting. + +In branding they first get a rope over your neck and shut off your wind. +Then they trip your feet by roping your forelegs while you are on the +jump. This brings you down hard and with much abruptness. A cowboy sits +on your head while others pin you to the ground from various +vantage-points. Next someone holds a red-hot iron on your rump until it +has sunk deep into your skin. That is branding. + +Well, this thing they did to the black thoroughbred, who had up to that +time felt not so much as the touch of a whip. They did it, but not +before a full dozen cow-punchers had worked themselves into such a fury +of exasperation that no shred of picturesque profanity was left unused +among them. + +Quivering with fear and anger, the black, as soon as the ropes were +taken off, dashed madly about the corral looking in vain for a way of +escape from his torturers. Corrals, however, are built to resist just +such dashes. The burn of a branding iron is supposed to heal almost +immediately. Cowboys will tell you that a horse is always more +frightened than hurt during the operation, and that the day after he +feels none the worse. + +All this you need not credit. A burn is a burn, whether made purposely +with a branding iron or by accident in any other way. The scorched +flesh puckers and smarts. It hurts every time a leg is moved. It seems +as if a thousand needles were playing a tattoo on the exposed surface. +Neither is this the worst of the business. To a high-strung animal the +roping, throwing, and burning is a tremendous nervous shock. For days +after branding a horse will jump and start, quivering with expectant +agony, at the slightest cause. + +It was fully a week before the black thoroughbred was himself again. In +that time he had conceived such a deep and lasting hatred for all men, +cowboys in particular, as only a high-spirited, blue-blooded horse can +acquire. With deep contempt he watched the scrubby little cow ponies as +they doggedly carried about those wild, fierce men who threw their +circling, whistling, hateful ropes, who wore such big, sharp spurs and +who were viciously handy in using their rawhide quirts. + +So when a cowboy put a breaking-bit into the black's mouth there was +another lively scene. It was somewhat confused, this scene, but at +intervals one could make out that the man, holding stubbornly to mane +and forelock, was being slatted and slammed and jerked, now with his +feet on the ground, now thrown high in the air and now dangling +perilously and at various angles as the stallion raced away. + +In the end, of course, came the whistle of the choking, foot-tangling +ropes, and the black was saddled. For a fierce half hour he took +punishment from bit and spur and quirt. Then, although he gave it up, it +was not that his spirit was broken, but because his wind was gone. Quite +passively he allowed himself to be ridden out on the prairie to where +the herds were grazing. + +Undeceived by this apparent docility, the cowboy, when the time came for +him to bunk down under the chuck wagon for a few hours of sleep, +tethered his mount quite securely to a deep-driven stake. Before the +cattleman had taken more than a round dozen of winks the black had +tested his tether to the limit of his strength. The tether stood the +test. A cow pony might have done this much. There he would have stopped. +But the black was a Kentucky thoroughbred, blessed with the inherited +intelligence of noble sires, some of whom had been household pets. So he +investigated the tether at close range. + +Feeling the stake with his sensitive upper lip he discovered it to be +firm as a rock. Next he backed away and wrenched tentatively at the +halter until convinced that the throat strap was thoroughly sound. His +last effort must have been an inspiration. Attacking the taut buckskin +rope with his teeth he worked diligently until he had severed three of +the four strands. Then he gathered himself for another lunge. With a +snap the rope parted and the black dashed away into the night, leaving +the cowboy snoring confidently by the camp-fire. + +All night he ran, on and on in the darkness, stopping only to listen +tremblingly to the echo of his own hoofs and to sniff suspiciously at +the crouching shadows of innocent bushes. By morning he had left the Bar +L outfit many miles behind, and when the red sun rolled up over the edge +of the prairie he saw that he was alone in a field that stretched +unbroken to the circling sky-line. + +Not until noon did the runaway black scent water. Half mad with thirst +he dashed to the edge of a muddy little stream and sucked down a great +draught. As he raised his head he saw standing poised above him on the +opposite bank, with ears laid menacingly flat and nostrils aquiver in +nervous palpitation, a buckskin-colored stallion. + +Snorting from fright the black wheeled and ran. He heard behind him a +shrill neigh of challenge and in a moment the thunder of many hoofs. +Looking back he saw fully a score of horses, the buckskin stallion in +the van, charging after him. That was enough. Filling his great lungs +with air he leaped into such a burst of speed that his pursuers soon +tired of the hopeless chase. Finding that he was no longer followed the +black grew curious. Galloping in a circle he gradually approached the +band. The horses had settled down to the cropping of buffalo grass, only +the buckskin stallion, who had taken a position on a little knoll, +remaining on guard. + +The surprising thing about this band was that each and every member +seemed riderless. Not until he had taken long up-wind sniffs was the +thoroughbred convinced of this fact. When certain on this point he +cantered toward the band, sniffing inquiringly. Again the buckskin +stallion charged, ears back, eyes gleaming wickedly and snorting +defiantly. This time the black stood his ground until the buckskin's +teeth snapped savagely within a few inches of his throat. Just in time +did he rear and swerve. Twice more--for the paddock-raised black was +slow to understand such behavior--the buckskin charged. Then the black +was roused into aggressiveness. + +There ensued such a battle as would have brought delight to the brute +soul of a Nero. With fore-feet and teeth the two stallions engaged, +circling madly about on their hind legs, tearing up great clods of +turf, biting and striking as opportunity offered. At last, by a quick, +desperate rush, the buckskin caught the thoroughbred fairly by the +throat. Here the affair would have ended had not the black stallion, +rearing suddenly on his muscle-ridged haunches and lifting his +opponent's forequarters clear of the ground, showered on his enemy such +a rain of blows from his iron-shod feet that the wild buckskin dropped +to the ground, dazed and vanquished. + +Standing over him, with all the fierce pride of a victorious gladiator +showing in every curve of his glistening body, the black thoroughbred +trumpeted out a stentorian call of defiance and command. The band, that +had watched the struggle from a discreet distance, now came galloping +in, whinnying in friendly fashion. + +Black Eagle had won his first fight. He had won the leadership. By right +of might he was now chief of this free company of plains rangers. It +was for him to lead whither he chose, to pick the place and hour of +grazing, the time for watering, and his to guard his companions from all +dangers. + +As for the buckskin stallion, there remained for him the choice of +humbly following the new leader or of limping off alone to try to raise +a new band. Being a worthy descendant of the chargers which the men of +Cortez rode so fearlessly into the wilds of the New World he chose the +latter course, and, having regained his senses, galloped stiffly toward +the north, his bruised head lowered in defeat. + +Some months later Arizona stockmen began to hear tales of a great band +of wild horses, led by a magnificent black stallion which was fleeter +than a scared coyote. There came reports of much mischief. Cattle were +stampeded by day, calves trampled to death, and steers scattered far +and wide over the prairie. By night bunches of tethered cow ponies +disappeared. The exasperated cowboys could only tell that suddenly out +of the darkness had swept down on their quiet camps an avalanche of wild +horses. And generally they caught glimpses of a great black branded +stallion who led the marauders at such a pace that he seemed almost to +fly through the air. + +This stallion came to be known as Black Eagle, and to be thoroughly +feared and hated from one end of the cattle country to the other. The +Bar L ranch appeared to be the heaviest loser. Time after time were its +picketed mares run off, again and again were the Bar L herds scattered +by the dash of this mysterious band. Was it that Black Eagle could take +revenge? Cattlemen have queer notions. They put a price on his head. It +was worth six months wages to any cowboy who might kill or capture +Black Eagle. + +About this time Lefty, the silent man of the Bar L outfit, disappeared. +Weeks went by and still the branded stallion remained free and unhurt, +for no cow horse in all the West could keep him in sight half an hour. + +Black Eagle had been the outlaw king of the ranges for nearly two years +when one day, as he was standing at lookout while the band cropped the +rich mesa grass behind him, he saw entering the cleft end of a distant +arroyo a lone cowboy mounted on a dun little pony. With quick +intelligence the stallion noted that this arroyo wound about until its +mouth gave upon the side of the mesa not a hundred yards from where he +stood. + +Promptly did Black Eagle act. Calling his band he led it at a sharp pace +to a sheltered hollow on the mesa's back slope. There he left it and +hurried away to take up his former position. He had not waited long +before the cowboy, riding stealthily, reappeared at the arroyo's mouth. +Instantly the race was on. Tossing his fine head in the air and +switching haughtily his splendid tail, Black Eagle laid his course in a +direction which took him away from his sheltered band. Pounding along +behind came the cowboy, urging to utmost endeavor the tough little +mustang which he rode. + +Had this been simply a race it would have lasted but a short time. But +it was more than a race. It was a conflict of strategists. Black Eagle +wished to do more than merely out-distance his enemy. He meant to lead +him far away and then, under cover of night, return to his band. + +Also the cowboy had a purpose. Well knowing that he could neither +overtake nor tire the black stallion, he intended to ride him down by +circling. In circling, the pursuer rides toward the pursued from an +angle, gradually forcing his quarry into a circular course whose +diameter narrows with every turn. + +This, however, was a trick Black Eagle had long ago learned to block. +Sure of his superior speed he galloped away in a line straight as an +arrow's flight, paying no heed at all to the manner in which he was +followed. Before midnight he had rejoined his band, while far off on the +prairie was a lone cowboy moodily frying bacon over a sage-brush fire. + +But this pursuer was no faint heart. Late the next day he was sighted +creeping cunningly up to windward. Again there was a race, not so long +this time, for the day was far spent, but with the same result. + +When for the third time there came into view this same lone cowboy, +Black Eagle was thoroughly aroused to the fact that this persistent +rider meant mischief. Having once more led the cowboy a long and +fruitless chase the great black gathered up his band and started south. +Not until noon of the next day did he halt, and then only because many +of the mares were in bad shape. For a week the band was moved on. During +intervals of rest a sharp lookout was kept. Watering places, where an +enemy might lurk, were approached only after the most careful scouting. + +Despite all caution, however, the cowboy finally appeared on the +horizon. Unwilling to endanger the rest of the band, and perhaps wishing +a free hand in coping with this evident Nemesis, Black Eagle cantered +boldly out to meet him. Just beyond gun range the stallion turned +sharply at right angles and sped off over the prairie. + +There followed a curious chase. Day after day the great black led his +pursuer on, stopping now and then to graze or take water, never allowing +him to cross the danger line, but never leaving him wholly out of sight. +It was a course of many windings which Black Eagle took, now swinging +far to the west to avoid a ranch, now circling east along a water-course, +again doubling back around the base of a mesa, but in the main going +steadily northward. Up past the brown Maricopas they worked, across the +turgid Gila, skirting Lone Butte desert; up, up and on until in the +distance glistened the bald peaks of Silver range. + +Never before did a horse play such a dangerous game, and surely none +ever showed such finesse. Deliberately trailing behind him an enemy bent +on taking either his life or freedom, not for a moment did Black Eagle +show more than imperative caution. At the close of each day when, by a +few miles of judicious galloping, he had fully winded the cowboy's +mount, the sagacious black would circle to the rear of his pursuer and +often, in the gloom of early night, walk recklessly near to the camp of +his enemy just for the sake of sniffing curiously. But each morning, as +the cowboy cooked his scant breakfast, he would see, standing a few +hundred rods away, Black Eagle, patiently waiting for the chase to be +resumed. + +Day after day was the hunted black called upon to foil a new ruse. +Sometimes it was a game of hide and seek among the buttes, and again it +was an early morning sally by the cowboy. + +Once during a mid-day stop the dun mustang was turned out to graze. +Black Eagle followed suit. A half mile to windward he could see the cow +pony, and beside it, evidently sitting with his back toward his quarry, +the cowboy. For a half hour, perhaps, all was peace and serenity. Then, +as a cougar springing from his lair, there blazed out of the bushes on +the bank of a dry water-course to leeward a rifle shot. + +Black Eagle felt a shock that stretched him on the grass. There arrived +a stinging at the top of his right shoulder and a numbing sensation all +along his backbone. Madly he struggled to get on his feet, but he could +do no more than raise his fore quarters on his knees. As he did so he +saw running toward him from the bushes, coatless and hatless, his +relentless pursuer. Black Eagle had been tricked. The figure by the +distant mustang then, was only a dummy. He had been shot from ambush. +Human strategy had won. + +With one last desperate effort, which sent the red blood spurting from +the bullet hole in his shoulder, Black Eagle heaved himself up until he +sat on his haunches, braced by his fore-feet set wide apart. + +Then, just as the cowboy brought his rifle into position for the +finishing shot, the stallion threw up his handsome head, his big eyes +blazing like two stars, and looked defiantly at his enemy. + +Slowly, steadily the cowboy took aim at the sleek black breast behind +which beat the brave heart of the wild thoroughbred. With finger +touching the trigger he glanced over the sights and looked into those +big, bold eyes. For a full minute man and horse faced each other thus. +Then the cowboy, in an uncertain, hesitating manner, lowered his rifle. +Calmly Black Eagle waited. But the expected shot never came. Instead, +the cowboy walked cautiously toward the wounded stallion. + +No move did Black Eagle make, no fear did he show. With a splendid +indifference worthy of a martyr he sat there, paying no more heed to his +approaching enemy than to the red stream which trickled down his +shoulder. He was helpless and knew it, but his noble courage was +unshaken. Even when the man came close enough to examine the wound and +pat the shining neck that for three years had known neither touch of +hand nor bridle-rein, the great stallion did no more than follow with +curious, steady gaze. + +It is an odd fact that a feral horse, although while free even wilder +and fiercer than those native to the prairies, when once returned to +captivity resumes almost instantly the traits and habits of domesticity. +So it was with Black Eagle. With no more fuss than he would have made +when he was a colt in paddock he allowed the cowboy to wash and dress +his wounded shoulder and to lead him about by the halter. + +By a little stream that rounded the base of a big butte, Lefty--for it +was he--made camp, and every day for a week he applied to Black Eagle's +shoulder a fresh poultice of pounded cactus leaves. In that time the big +stallion and the silent man buried distrust and hate and enmity. No +longer were they captive and captor. They came nearer to being congenial +comrades than anything else, for in the calm solitudes of the vast +plains such sentiments may thrive. + +So, when the wound was fully healed, the black permitted himself to be +bridled and saddled. With the cow pony following as best it might they +rode toward Santa Fe. + +With Black Eagle's return to the cramped quarters of peopled places +there came experiences entirely new to him. Every morning he was +saddled by Lefty and ridden around a fence-enclosed course. At first he +was allowed to set his own gait, but gradually he was urged to show his +speed. This was puzzling but not a little to his liking. Also he enjoyed +the oats twice a day and the careful grooming after each canter. He +became accustomed to stall life and to the scent and voices of men about +him, although as yet he trusted none but Lefty. Ever kind and +considerate he had found Lefty. There were times, of course, when Black +Eagle longed to be again on the prairie at the head of his old band, but +the joy of circling the track almost made up for the loss of those wild +free dashes. + +One day when Lefty took him out Black Eagle found many other horses on +the track, while around the enclosure he saw gathered row on row of men +and women. A band was playing and flags were snapping in the breeze. +There was a thrill of expectation in the air. Black Eagle felt it, and +as he pranced proudly down the track there was lifted a murmur of +applause and appreciation which made his nerves tingle strangely. + +Just how it all came about the big stallion did not fully understand at +the time. He heard a bell ring sharply, heard also the shouts of men, +and suddenly found himself flying down the course in company with a +dozen other horses and riders. They had finished half the circle before +Black Eagle fully realized that a gaunt, long-barrelled bay was not only +leading him but gaining with every leap. Tossing his black mane in the +wind, opening his bright nostrils and pointing his thin, close set ears +forward he swung into the long prairie stride which he was wont to use +when leading his wild band. A half dozen leaps brought him abreast the +gaunt bay, and then, feeling Lefty's knees pressing his shoulders and +hearing Lefty's voice whispering words of encouragement in his ears, +Black Eagle dashed ahead to rush down through the lane of frantically +shouting spectators, winner by a half dozen lengths. + +That was the beginning of Black Eagle's racing career. How it +progressed, how he won races and captured purses in a seemingly endless +string of victories unmarred by a single defeat, that is part of the +turf records of the South and West. + +There had to be an end, of course. Owners of carefully bred running +horses took no great pleasure, you may imagine, in seeing so many rich +prizes captured by a half-wild branded stallion of no known pedigree, +and ridden by a silent, square-jawed cowboy. So they sent East for a +"ringer." He came from Chicago in a box-car with two grooms and he was +entered as an unknown, although in the betting ring the odds posted were +one to five on the stranger. Yet it was a grand race. This alleged +unknown, with a suppressed record of victories at Sheepshead, Bennings, +and The Fort, did no more than shove his long nose under the wire a bare +half head in front of Black Eagle's foam-flecked muzzle. + +It was sufficient. The once wild stallion knew when he was beaten. He +had done his best and he had lost. His high pride had been humbled, his +fierce spirit broken. No more did the course hold for him any pleasure, +no more could he be thrilled by the cries of spectators or urged into +his old time stride by Lefty's whispered appeals. Never again did Black +Eagle win a race. + +His end, however, was not wholly inglorious. Much against his will the +cowboy who had so relentlessly followed Black Eagle half way across the +big territory of Arizona to lay him low with a rifle bullet, who had +spared his life at the last moment and who had ridden him to victory in +so many glorious races--this silent, square-jawed man had given him a +final caress and then, saying a husky good-by, had turned him over to +the owner of a great stud-farm and gone away with a thick roll of +bank-notes in his pocket and a guilty feeling in his breast. + +Thus it happens that to-day throughout the Southwest there are many +black-pointed fleet-footed horses in whose veins runs the blood of a +noble horse. Some of them you will find in well-guarded paddocks, while +some still roam the prairies in wild bands which are the menace of +stockmen and the vexation of cowboys. As for their sire, he is no more. + +This is the story of Black Eagle. Although some of the minor details +may be open to dispute, the main points you may hear recited by any +cattleman or horse-breeder west of Omaha. For Black Eagle really lived +and, as perhaps you will agree, lived not in vain. + + + + +BONFIRE + +BROKEN FOR THE HOUSE OF JERRY + + +I + +Down in Maine or up in Vermont, anywhere, in fact, save on a fancy +stud-farm, his color would have passed for sorrel. Being a high-bred +hackney, and the pick of the Sir Bardolph three-year-olds, he was put +down as a strawberry roan. Also he was the pride of Lochlynne. + +"'Osses, women, and the weather, sir, ain't to be depended on; but, +barrin' haccidents, that 'ere Bonfire'll fetch us a ribbon if any does, +sir." Hawkins, the stud-groom, made this prophecy, not in haste or out +of hand, but as one who has a reputation to maintain and who speaks by +the card. + +So the word was passed among the under-grooms and stable-boys that +Bonfire was the best of the Sir Bardolph get, and that he was going to +the Garden for the honor and profit of the farm. + +Well, Bonfire had come to the Garden. He had been there two days. It was +within a few hours of the time when the hackneys were to take the +ring--and look at him! His eyes were dull, his head was down, his +nostrils wept, his legs trembled. + +About his stall was gathered a little group of discouraged men and boys +who spoke in low tones and gazed gloomily through the murky atmosphere +at the blanket-swathed, hooded figure that seemed about to collapse on +the straw. + +"'E ain't got no more life in 'im than a sick cat," said one. "The +Bellair folks will beat us 'oller; every one o' their blooming hentries +is as fit as fiddles." + +"Ain't we worked on 'im for four mortal hours?" demanded another. "Wot +more can we do?" + +"Send for old 'Awkins an' tell 'im, that's all." + +A shudder seemed to shake the group in the stall. It was clear that Mr. +Hawkins would be displeased, and that his displeasure was something to +be dreaded. Bonfire, too, was seen to shudder, but it was not from fear +of Hawkins's wrath. Little did Bonfire care just then for grooms, head +or ordinary. He shuddered because of certain aches that dwelt within +him. + +In his stomach was a queer feeling which he did not at all understand. +In his head was a dizziness which made him wish that the stall would not +move about so. Streaks of pain shot along his backbone and slid down +his legs. Hot and cold flashes swept over his body. For Bonfire had a +bad case of car-sickness--a malady differing from sea-sickness largely +in name only--also a well-developed cold complicated by nervous +indigestion. + +Tuned to the key, he had left the home stables. Then they had led him +into that box on wheels and the trouble had begun. Men shouted, bells +clanged, whistles shrieked. Bonfire felt the box start with a jerk, and, +thumping, rumbling, jolting, swaying, move somewhere off into the night. + +In an agony of apprehension--neck stretched, eyes staring, ears pointed, +nostrils quivering, legs stiffened, Bonfire waited for the end. But of +end there seemed to be none. Shock after shock Bonfire withstood, and +still found himself waiting. What it all meant he could not guess. There +were the other horses that had been taken with him into the box, some +placidly munching hay, others looking curiously about. There were the +familiar grooms who talked soothingly in his ear and patted his neck in +vain. The terror of the thing, this being whirled noisily away in a box, +had struck deep into Bonfire's brain, and he could not get it out. So he +stood for many hours, neither eating nor sleeping, listening to the +noises, feeling the motion, and trembling as one with ague. + +Of course it was absurd for Bonfire to go to pieces in that fashion. You +can ship a Missouri Modoc around the world and he will finish almost as +sound as he started. But Bonfire had blood and breeding and a pedigree +which went back to Lady Alice of Burn Brae, Yorkshire. + +His coltdom had been a sort of hothouse existence; for Lochlynne, you +know, is the toy of a Pennsylvania coal baron, who breeds hackneys, not +for profit, but for the joy there is in it; just as other men grow +orchids and build cup defenders. At the Lochlynne stables they turn on +the steam heat in November. On rainy days you are exercised in a +glass-roofed tanbark ring, and hour after hour you are handled over +deep straw to improve your action. You breathe outdoor air only in +high-fenced grass paddocks around which you are driven in surcingle rig +by a Cockney groom imported with the pigskin saddles and British +condition powders. From the day your name is written in the stud-book +until you leave, you have balanced feed, all-wool blankets, +fly-nettings, and coddling that never ceases. Yet this is the method +that rounds you into perfect hackney form. + +All this had been done for Bonfire and with apparent success, but a few +hours of railroad travel had left him with a set of nerves as tensely +strung as those of a high-school girl on graduation-day. That is why a +draught of cold air had chilled him to the bone; that is why, after +reaching the Garden, he had gone as limp as a cut rose at a ball. + + +II + +Hawkins, who had jumped into his clothes and hurried to the scene from a +nearby hotel, behaved disappointingly. He cursed no one, he did not even +kick a stable boy. He just peeled to his undershirt and went to work. He +stripped blankets and hood from the wretched Bonfire, grabbed a bunch of +straw in either hand and began to rub. It was no chamois polishing. It +was a raking, scraping, rib-bending rub, applied with all the force in +Hawkins's sinewy arms. It sent the sluggish blood pounding through +every artery of Bonfire's congested system and it made the perspiration +ooze from the red face of Hawkins. + +At the end of forty minutes' work Bonfire half believed he had been +skinned alive. But he had stopped trembling and he held up his head. +Next he saw Hawkins shaking something in a thick, long-necked bottle. +Suddenly two grooms held Bonfire's jaws apart while Hawkins poured a +liquid down his throat. It was fiery stuff that seemed to burn its way, +and its immediate effect was to revive Bonfire's appetite. + +Hour after hour Hawkins worked and watched the son of Sir Bardolph, and +when the get-ready bell sounded he remarked: + +"Now, blarst you, we'll see if you're goin' to go to heverlastin' smash +in the ring. Tommy, dig out a pair o' them burrs." + +Not until he reached the tanbark did Bonfire understand what burrs +were. Then, as a rein was pulled, he felt a hundred sharp points +pricking the sensitive skin around his mouth. With a bound he leaped +into the ring. + +It was a very pretty sight presented to the horse experts lining the +rail and to persons in boxes and tier seats. They saw a blockily built +strawberry roan, his chiselled neck arched in a perfect crest, his rigid +thigh muscles rippling under a shiny coat as he swung his hocks, his +slim forelegs sweeping up and out, and every curve of his rounded body, +from the tip of his absurd whisk-broom tail to the white snip on the end +of his tossing nose, expressing that exuberance of spirits, that jaunty +abandon of motion which is the very apex of hackney style. Behind him a +short-legged groom bounced through the air at the end of the reins, +keeping his feet only by means of most amazing strides. + +It was a woman in one of the promenade boxes, a young woman wearing a +stunning gown and a preposterous picture-hat, who started the applause. +Her hand-clapping was echoed all around the rail, was taken up in the +boxes and finally woke a rattling chorus from the crowded tiers above. +The three judges, men with whips and long-tailed coats, looked earnestly +at the strawberry roan. + +Bonfire heard, too, but vaguely. There was a ringing in his ears. +Flashes of light half blinded his eyes. The concoction from the +long-necked bottle was doing its work. Also the jaw-stinging burrs kept +his mind busy. On he danced in a mad effort to escape the pain, and only +by careful manoeuvring could the grooms get him to stand still long +enough for the judges to use the tape. + +And when it was all over, after the judges had grouped and regrouped +the entries, compared figures and whispered in the ring centre; out of +sheer defiance to the preference of the spectators they gave the blue to +a chestnut filly with black points--at which the tier seats hissed +mightily--and tied a red ribbon to Bonfire's bridle. Thereupon the +strawberry roan, who had looked fit for a girthsling three hours before, +tossed his head and pranced daintily out of the arena amid a ringing +round of applause. + +Hardly had Bonfire's docked tail disappeared before the woman in the +stunning gown turned eagerly to a man beside her and asked, "Can't I +have him, Jerry? He'll be such a perfect cross-mate for Topsy. Please, +now." + +To be sure Jerry grumbled some, but inside of a quarter of an hour he +had found Hawkins and paid the price; a price worthy of Sir Bardolph and +quite in keeping with Lochlynne reckonings. + +"'E's been car sick an' show sick," said Hawkins warningly, "an' it'll +be a good two weeks afore 'e's in proper condition, sir; but you'll find +'im as neat a bit of 'oss flesh as you hever owned, sir." + +Nor was Hawkins wrong. When the burrs were taken off and the effect of +the doses from the long-necked bottle had died out, Bonfire looked +anything but a ribbon-getter. Luckily Mr. Jerry had a coachman who knew +his business. Dan was his name, County Antrim his birthplace. He fed +Bonfire hot mixtures, he rubbed, he nursed, until he had coaxed the cold +out and had quieted the jangled nerves. Then, one crisp December +morning, Bonfire, once more in the pink of condition, was hooked up with +Topsy to the pole of a shining, rubber-tired brougham and taken around +to make the acquaintance of Mrs. Jerry. + +"Oh, isn't he a beauty, Dan!" squealed Mrs. Jerry delightedly, as +Bonfire danced up to the curb. "Isn't he?" + +Dan, trained to silence, touched his hat. Mrs. Jerry patted Bonfire's +rounded quarter, tried to rub his impatient nose and squandered on him a +bewildering variety of superlatives. Then she was handed to her seat, +the footman swung up beside Dan, the reins were slackened and away they +whirled toward the Park, stepping as if they were going over hurdles. + + +III + +For three years Bonfire had been in leather and he had found the life +far different from the dull routine of coddling that he had known at the +Lochlynne Farm. There was little monotony about it, for the Jerrys were +no stay-at-homes. Of his oak-finished stable, with its sanded floors +and plaited straw stall-mats, Bonfire saw almost as little as did Mrs. +Jerry of her white and gold rooms on the Avenue. + +In the morning it would be a trip down town, where Topsy and Bonfire +would wait before the big stores, watching the traffic and people, until +Mrs. Jerry reappeared. After luncheon they generally took her through +the Park or up and down the Avenue to teas and receptions. In the +evening they were often harnessed again to take Mr. and Mrs. Jerry to +dinner, theatre, or ball. Late at night they might be turned out to +fetch them home. + +What long, cold waits they had, standing in line sometimes for hours, +stamping their hoofs and shivering under heavy blankets; for a stylish +hackney, you know, must be kept closely clipped, no matter what the +weather. Why, even Dan, muffled in his big coat and bear-skin +shoulder-cape, was half frozen. But Dan could leave the footman on the +box and go to warm himself in the glittering corner saloons, and when he +came back it would be the footman's turn. For Topsy and Bonfire there +was no such relief. Chilled, tired, and hungry, they must stamp and wait +until at last, far down the street, could be heard the shouting of the +strong-lunged carriage-caller. When Dan got his number they were quite +ready for the homeward dash. + +Seeing them come down the street, heads tossing, pole-chains jingling, +the crest and monogram of the house of Jerry glistening on quarter cloth +and rosette, their polished hoofs seeming barely to touch the asphalt, +you might have thought their lot one to be envied. But Bonfire and Topsy +knew better. + +It was altogether too heavy work for high-bred hackneys, of course. Mr. +Jerry pointed this out, but to no use. Mrs. Jerry asked pertinently +what good horses were for if not to be used. No, she wanted no livery +teams for the night work. When she rode she wished to ride behind Topsy +and Bonfire. They were her horses, anyway. She would do as she pleased. +And she did. + +Summer brought neither rest nor relief. Early in July horses, servants, +and carriages would be shipped off to Newport or Saratoga, there to +begin again the unceasing whirl. And fly time, to a docktailed horse, is +a season of torment. + +Of Mrs. Jerry, who had once roused the Garden for his sake, Bonfire +caught but glimpses. After that first day, when he was a novelty, he +heard no more compliments, received no more pats from her gloved hands. +But of slight or neglect Bonfire knew nothing. He curved his neck and +threw his hoofs high, whether his muscles ached or no; in winter he +stamped to keep warm, in summer to dislodge the flies; he did his work +faithfully, early or late, in cold and in heat; and all this because he +was a son of Sir Bardolph and for the reason that it was his nature to. +Had it been put upon him he would have worked in harness until he +dropped, prancing his best to the last. + +No supreme test, however, was ever brought to the endurance and +willingness of Bonfire. They just kept him on the pole, nerves tense, +muscles strained, until he began to lose form. His action no longer had +that grace and abandon which so pleased Mrs. Jerry when she first saw +him. Long standing in the cold numbs the muscles. It robs the legs of +their spring. Sudden starts, such as are made when you are called from +line after an hour's waiting, finish the business. Try as he might, +Bonfire could not step so high, could not carry a perfect crest. His +neck had lost its roundness, in his rump a crease had appeared. + +To Dan also, came tribulation of his own making. He carried a flat brown +flask under the box and there were times when his driving was more a +matter of muscular habit than of mental acuteness. Twice he was +threatened with discharge and twice he solemnly promised reform. At last +the inevitable happened. Dan came one morning to Bonfire's stall, very +sober and very sad. He patted Bonfire and said good-by. Then he +disappeared. + +Less than a week later two young hackneys, plump of neck, round of +quarter, springy of knee and hock, were brought to the stable. Bonfire +and Topsy were led out of their old stalls to return no more. They had +been worn out in the service and cast aside like a pair of old gloves. + +Then did Bonfire enter upon a period of existence in which box-stalls, +crested quarter blankets, rubber-tired wheels and liveried drivers had +no part. It was a varied existence, filled with toil and hardship and +abuse; an existence for which the coddling one gets at Lochlynne Farm is +no fit preparation. + + +IV + +Just where Broadway crosses Sixth Avenue at Thirty-third Street is to be +found a dingy, triangular little park plot in which a few gas-stunted, +smoke-stained trees make a brave attempt to keep alive. On two sides of +the triangle surface-cars whirl restlessly, while overhead the elevated +trains rattle and shriek. This part of the metropolis knows little +difference between day and night, for the cars never cease, the +arc-lights blaze from dusk until dawn and the pavements are never wholly +empty. + +Locally the section is sometimes called "the Cabman's Graveyard." During +any hour of the twenty-four you may find waiting along the curb a line +of public carriages. By day you will sometimes see smartly kept hansoms, +well-groomed horses, and drivers in neat livery. + +But at night the character of the line changes. The carriages are mostly +one-horse closed cabs, rickety as to wheels, with torn and faded +cushions, license numbers obscured by various devices and rate-cards +always missing. The horses are dilapidated, too; and the drivers, whom +you will generally find nodding on the box or sound asleep inside their +cabs, harmonize with their rigs. + +These are the Nighthawkers of the Tenderloin. The name is not an +assuring one, but it is suspected that it has been aptly given. + +One bleak midnight in late November a cab of this description waited in +the lee of the elevated stairs. The cab itself was weather-beaten, +scratched, and battered. The driver, who sat half inside and half +outside the vehicle, with his feet on the sidewalk and his back propped +against the seat-cushion, puffed a short pipe and watched with indolent +but discriminating eye those who passed. He wore a coachman's coat of +faded green which seemed to have acquired a stain for every button it +had lost. On his head sat jauntily a rusty beaver and his face, +especially the nose, was of a rich crimson hue. + +The horse, that seemed to lean on rather than stand in the patched +shafts, showed many well-defined points and but few curves. His thin +neck was ewed, there were deep hollows over the eyes, the number of his +ribs was revealed with startling frankness and the sagging of one +hind-quarter betrayed a bad leg. His head he held in spiritless fashion +on a level with his knees. As if to add a note of irony, his tail had +been docked to the regulation of absurd brevity and served only to tag +him as one fallen from a more reputable state. + +Suddenly, up and across the intersecting thoroughfares, with a sharp +clatter of hoofs, rolled a smart closed brougham. The dispirited bobtail +looked up as a well-mated pair pranced past. Perhaps he noted their +sleek quarters, the glittering trappings on their backs and their +gingery action. As he dropped his head again something very like a sigh +escaped him. It might have been regret, perhaps it was only a touch of +influenza. + +The driver, too, saw the turnout and gazed after it. But he did not +sigh. He puffed away at his pipe as if entirely satisfied with his lot. +He was still watching the brougham when a surface-car came gliding +swiftly around a curve. There was a smash of splintering wood and +breaking glass. The car had struck the brougham a battering-ram blow, +crushing a rear wheel and snapping the steel axle at the hub. + +From somewhere or other a crowd of curious persons appeared and circled +about to watch while the driver held the plunging horses and the footman +hauled from the overturned carriage a man and a woman in evening dress. +The couple seemed unhurt and, although somewhat rumpled as to attire, +remarkably unconcerned. + +"Keb, sir! Have a keb, sir?" + +The Nighthawker was on the scene, like a longshore wrecker, and waving +an inviting arm toward his shabby vehicle. + +The man coolly restored to shape his misused opera hat, adjusted his +necktie, whispered some orders to his coachman and then asked of the +Nighthawker: "Where's your carriage, my man?" + +Eagerly the green-coated cabby led the way until the rescued couple +stood before it. The woman inspected the battered vehicle doubtfully +before stepping inside. The man eyed the sorry nag for a moment and then +said, with a laugh: "Good frame you have there; got the parts all +numbered?" + +But the Nighthawker was not sensitive. The intimation that his horse +might fall apart he answered only with a good-natured chuckle and asked: +"Where shall it be; home, sir?" + +"Why, yes, drive us to number----" + +"Oh, we know the house well enough, sir, Bonfire and me." + +"Bonfire! Bonfire, did you say?" Incredulously the fare looked first at +the horse and then at the driver. "Why, 'pon my word, it's old Dan! And +this relic in the shafts is Bonfire, is it?" + +"It's him, sir; leastways, all there's left of him." + +"Well, I'll be hanged! Kitty! Kitty!" he shouted into the cab where my +lady was nervously pulling her skirts closer about her and sniffing the +tobacco-laden atmosphere with evident disapproval. "Here's Dan, our old +coachman." + +"Really?" was the unenthusiastic reply from the cab. + +"Yes, and he's driving Bonfire. You remember Bonfire, the hackney I +bought for you at the Garden the year we were married." + +"Indeed? Why, how odd? But do come in, Jerry, and let's get on home. I'm +so-o-o-o tired." + +Mr. Jerry stifled his sentiment and shut the cab-door with a bang. Dan +pulled Bonfire's head into position and lightly laid the whip over the +all too obvious ribs. Bonfire, his head bobbing ludicrously on his thin +neck and his stubby tail keeping time at the other end of him, moved +uncertainly up the avenue at a jerky hobble. + +And there let us leave him. Poor old Bonfire! Bred to win a ribbon at +the Garden--ended as the drudge of a Tenderloin Nighthawker. + + + + +PASHA + +THE SON OF SELIM + + +Long, far too long, has the story of Pasha, son of Selim, remained +untold. + +The great Selim, you know, was brought from far across the seas, where +he had been sold for a heavy purse by a venerable sheik, who tore his +beard during the bargain and swore by Allah that without Selim there +would be for him no joy in life. Also he had wept quite convincingly on +Selim's neck--but he finished by taking the heavy purse. That was how +Selim, the great Selim, came to end his days in Fayette County, +Kentucky. Of his many sons, Pasha was one. + +In almost idyllic manner were spent the years of Pasha's coltdom. They +were years of pasture roaming and bluegrass cropping. When the time was +ripe, began the hunting lessons. Pasha came to know the feel of the +saddle and the voice of the hounds. He was taught the long, easy lope. +He learned how to gather himself for a sail through the air over a +hurdle or a water-jump. Then, when he could take five bars clean, when +he could clear an eight-foot ditch, when his wind was so sound that he +could lead the chase from dawn until high noon, he was sent to the +stables of a Virginia tobacco-planter who had need of a new hunter and +who could afford Arab blood. + +In the stalls at Gray Oaks stables were many good hunters, but none +better than Pasha. Cream-white he was, from the tip of his splendid, +yard-long tail to his pink-lipped muzzle. His coat was as silk plush, +his neck as supple as a swan's, and out of his big, bright eyes there +looked such intelligence that one half expected him to speak. His lines +were all long, graceful curves, and when he danced daintily on his +slender legs one could see the muscles flex under the delicate skin. + +Miss Lou claimed Pasha for her very own at first sight. As no one at +Gray Oaks denied Miss Lou anything at all, to her he belonged from that +instant. Of Miss Lou, Pasha approved thoroughly. She knew that +bridle-reins were for gentle guidance, not for sawing or jerking, and +that a riding-crop was of no use whatever save to unlatch a gate or to +cut at an unruly hound. She knew how to rise on the stirrup when Pasha +lifted himself in his stride, and how to settle close to the pigskin +when his hoofs hit the ground. In other words, she had a good seat, +which means as much to the horse as it does to the rider. + +Besides all this, it was Miss Lou who insisted that Pasha should have +the best of grooming, and she never forgot to bring the dainties which +Pasha loved, an apple or a carrot or a sugar-plum. It is something, too, +to have your nose patted by a soft gloved hand and to have such a person +as Miss Lou put her arm around your neck and whisper in your ear. From +no other than Miss Lou would Pasha permit such intimacy. + +No paragon, however, was Pasha. He had a temper, and his whims were as +many as those of a school-girl. He was particular as to who put on his +bridle. He had notions concerning the manner in which a curry-comb should +be used. A red ribbon or a bandanna handkerchief put him in a rage, +while green, the holy color of the Mohammedan, soothed his nerves. A +lively pair of heels he had, and he knew how to use his teeth. The black +stable-boys found that out, and so did the stern-faced man who was known +as "Mars" Clayton. This "Mars" Clayton had ridden Pasha once, had ridden +him as he rode his big, ugly, hard-bitted roan hunter, and Pasha had not +enjoyed the ride. Still, Miss Lou and Pasha often rode out with "Mars" +Clayton and the parrot-nosed roan. That is, they did until the coming of +Mr. Dave. + +In Mr. Dave, Pasha found a new friend. From a far Northern State was Mr. +Dave. He had come in a ship to buy tobacco, but after he had bought his +cargo he still stayed at Gray Oaks, "to complete Pasha's education," so +he said. + +Many ways had Mr. Dave which Pasha liked. He had a gentle manner of +talking to you, of smoothing your flanks and rubbing your ears, which +gained your confidence and made you sure that he understood. He was firm +and sure in giving commands, yet so patient in teaching one tricks, that +it was a pleasure to learn. + +So, almost before Pasha knew it, he could stand on his hind legs, could +step around in a circle in time to a tune which Mr. Dave whistled, and +could do other things which few horses ever learn to do. His chief +accomplishment, however, was to kneel on his forelegs in the attitude of +prayer. A long time it took Pasha to learn this, but Mr. Dave told him +over and over again, by word and sign, until at last the son of the +great Selim could strike a pose such as would have done credit to a +Mecca pilgrim. + +"It's simply wonderful!" declared Miss Lou. + +But it was nothing of the sort. Mr. Dave had been teaching tricks to +horses ever since he was a small boy, and never had he found such an apt +pupil as Pasha. + +Many a glorious gallop did Pasha and Miss Lou have while Mr. Dave stayed +at Gray Oaks, Dave riding the big bay gelding that Miss Lou, with all +her daring, had never ventured to mount. It was not all galloping +though, for Pasha and the big bay often walked for miles through the +wood lanes, side by side and very close together, while Miss Lou and Mr. +Dave talked, talked, talked. How they could ever find so much to say to +each other Pasha wondered. + +But at last Mr. Dave went away, and with his going ended good times for +Pasha, at least for many months. There followed strange doings. There +was much excitement among the stable-boys, much riding about, day and +night, by the men of Gray Oaks, and no hunting at all. One day the +stables were cleared of all horses save Pasha. + +"Some time, if he is needed badly, you may have Pasha, but not now," +Miss Lou had said. And then she had hidden her face in his cream-white +mane and sobbed. Just what the trouble was Pasha did not understand, but +he was certain "Mars" Clayton was at the bottom of it. + +No longer did Miss Lou ride about the country. Occasionally she galloped +up and down the highway, to the Pointdexters and back, just to let Pasha +stretch his legs. Queer sights Pasha saw on these trips. Sometimes he +would pass many men on horses riding close together in a pack, as the +hounds run when they have the scent. They wore strange clothing, did +these men, and they carried, instead of riding-crops, big shiny knives +that swung at their sides. The sight of them set Pasha's nerves +tingling. He would sniff curiously after them and then prick forward +his ears and dance nervously. + +Of course Pasha knew that something unusual was going on, but what it +was he could not guess. There came a time, however, when he found out +all about it. Months had passed when, late one night, a hard-breathing, +foam-splotched, mud-covered horse was ridden into the yard and taken +into the almost deserted stable. Pasha heard the harsh voice of "Mars" +Clayton swearing at the stable-boys. Pasha heard his own name spoken, +and guessed that it was he who was wanted. Next came Miss Lou to the +stable. + +"I'm very sorry," he heard "Mars" Clayton say, "but I've got to get out +of this. The Yanks are not more than five miles behind." + +"But you'll take good care of him, won't you?" he heard Miss Lou ask +eagerly. + +"Oh, yes; of course," replied "Mars" Clayton, carelessly. + +A heavy saddle was thrown on Pasha's back, the girths pulled cruelly +tight, and in a moment "Mars" Clayton was on his back. They were barely +clear of Gray Oaks driveway before Pasha felt something he had never +known before. It was as if someone had jabbed a lot of little knives +into his ribs. Roused by pain and fright, Pasha reared in a wild attempt +to unseat this hateful rider. But "Mars" Clayton's knees seemed glued to +Pasha's shoulders. Next Pasha tried to shake him off by sudden leaps, +side-bolts, and stiff-legged jumps. These manoeuvres brought vicious +jerks on the wicked chain-bit that was cutting Pasha's tender mouth +sorrily and more jabs from the little knives. In this way did Pasha +fight until his sides ran with blood and his breast was plastered thick +with reddened foam. + +In the meantime he had covered miles of road, and at last, along in the +cold gray of the morning, he was ridden into a field where were many +tents and horses. Pasha was unsaddled and picketed to a stake. This +latter indignity he was too much exhausted to resent. All he could do +was to stand, shivering with cold, trembling from nervous excitement, +and wait for what was to happen next. + +It seemed ages before anything did happen. The beginning was a tripping +bugle-blast. This was answered by the voice of other bugles blown here +and there about the field. In a moment men began to tumble out of the +white tents. They came by twos and threes and dozens, until the field +was full of them. Fires were built on the ground, and soon Pasha could +scent coffee boiling and bacon frying. Black boys began moving about +among the horses with hay and oats and water. One of them rubbed Pasha +hurriedly with a wisp of straw. It was little like the currying and +rubbing with brush and comb and flannel to which he was accustomed and +which he needed just then, oh, how sadly. His strained muscles had +stiffened so much that every movement gave him pain. So matted was his +coat with sweat and foam and mud that it seemed as if half the pores of +his skin were choked. + +He had cooled his parched throat with a long draught of somewhat muddy +water, but he had eaten only half of the armful of hay when again the +bugles sounded and "Mars" Clayton appeared. Tightening the girths, until +they almost cut into Pasha's tender skin, he jumped into the saddle and +rode off to where a lot of big black horses were being reined into line. +In front of this line Pasha was wheeled. He heard the bugles sound once +more, heard his rider shout something to the men behind, felt the +wicked little knives in his sides, and then, in spite of aching legs, +was forced into a sharp gallop. Although he knew it not, Pasha had +joined the Black Horse Cavalry. + +The months that followed were to Pasha one long, ugly dream. Not that he +minded the hard riding by day and night. In time he became used to all +that. He could even endure the irregular feeding, the sleeping in the +open during all kinds of weather, and the lack of proper grooming. But +the vicious jerks on the torture-provoking cavalry bit, the flat sabre +blows on the flank which he not infrequently got from his ill-tempered +master, and, above all, the cruel digs of the spur-wheels--these things +he could not understand. Such treatment he was sure he did not merit. +"Mars" Clayton he came to hate more and more. Some day, Pasha told +himself, he would take vengeance with teeth and heels, even if he died +for it. + +In the meantime he had learned the cavalry drill. He came to know the +meaning of each varying bugle-call, from reveille, when one began to paw +and stamp for breakfast, to mournful taps, when lights went out, and the +tents became dark and silent. Also, one learned to slow from a gallop +into a walk; when to wheel to the right or to the left, and when to +start on the jump as the first notes of a charge were sounded. It was +better to learn the bugle-calls, he found, than to wait for a jerk on +the bits or a prod from the spurs. + +No more was he terror-stricken, as he had been on his first day in the +cavalry, at hearing behind him the thunder of many hoofs. Having once +become used to the noise, he was even thrilled by the swinging metre of +it. A kind of wild harmony was in it, something which made one forget +everything else. At such times Pasha longed to break into his long, +wind-splitting lope, but he learned that he must leave the others no +more than a pace or two behind, although he could have easily +outdistanced them all. + +Also, Pasha learned to stand under fire. No more did he dance at the +crack of carbines or the zipp-zipp of bullets. He could even hold his +ground when shells went screaming over him, although this was hardest of +all to bear. One could not see them, but their sound, like that of great +birds in flight, was something to try one's nerves. Pasha strained his +ears to catch the note of each shell that came whizzing overhead, and, +as it passed, looked inquiringly over his shoulder as if to ask, "Now +what on earth was that?" + +But all this experience could not prepare him for the happenings of +that never-to-be-forgotten day in June. There had been a period full of +hard riding and ending with a long halt. For several days hay and oats +were brought with some regularity. Pasha was even provided with an +apology for a stall. It was made by leaning two rails against a fence. +Some hay was thrown between the rails. This was a sorry substitute for +the roomy box-stall, filled with clean straw, which Pasha always had at +Gray Oaks, but it was as good as any provided for the Black Horse +Cavalry. + +And how many, many horses there were! As far as Pasha could see in +either direction the line extended. Never before had he seen so many +horses at one time. And men! The fields and woods were full of them; +some in brown butternut, some in homespun gray, and many in clothes +having no uniformity of color at all. "Mars" Clayton was dressed better +than most, for on his butternut coat were shiny shoulder-straps, and it +was closed with shiny buttons. Pasha took little pride in this. He knew +his master for a cruel and heartless rider, and for nothing more. + +One day there was a great parade, when Pasha was carefully groomed for +the first time in months. There were bands playing and flags flying. +Pasha, forgetful of his ill-treatment and prancing proudly at the head +of a squadron of coal-black horses, passed in review before a big, +bearded man wearing a slouch hat fantastically decorated with long +plumes and sitting a great black horse in the midst of a little knot of +officers. + +Early the next morning Pasha was awakened by the distant growl of heavy +guns. By daylight he was on the move, thousands of other horses with +him. Nearer and nearer they rode to the place where the guns were +growling. Sometimes they were on roads, sometimes they crossed fields, +and again they plunged into the woods where the low branches struck +one's eyes and scratched one's flanks. At last they broke clear of the +trees to come suddenly upon such a scene as Pasha had never before +witnessed. + +Far across the open field he could see troop on troop of horses coming +toward him. They seemed to be pouring over the crest of a low hill, as +if driven onward by some unseen force behind. Instantly Pasha heard, +rising from the throats of thousands of riders, on either side and +behind him, that fierce, wild yell which he had come to know meant the +approach of trouble. High and shrill and menacing it rang as it was +taken up and repeated by those in the rear. Next the bugles began to +sound, and in quick obedience the horses formed in line just on the +edge of the woods, a line which stretched and stretched on either flank +until one could hardly see where it ended. + +From the distant line came no answering cry, but Pasha could hear the +bugles blowing and he could see the fronts massing. Then came the order +to charge at a gallop. This set Pasha to tugging eagerly at the bit, but +for what reason he did not know. He knew only that he was part of a +great and solid line of men and horses sweeping furiously across a field +toward that other line which he had seen pouring over the hill-crest. + +He could scarcely see at all now. The thousands of hoofs had raised a +cloud of dust that not only enveloped the onrushing line, but rolled +before it. Nor could Pasha hear anything save the thunderous thud of +many feet. Even the shrieking of the shells was drowned. But for the +restraining bit Pasha would have leaped forward and cleared the line. +Never had he been so stirred. The inherited memory of countless desert +raids, made by his Arab ancestors, was doing its work. For what seemed a +long time this continued, and then, in the midst of the blind and +frenzied race, there loomed out of the thick air, as if it had appeared +by magic, the opposing line. + +Pasha caught a glimpse of something which seemed like a heaving wall of +tossing heads and of foam-whitened necks and shoulders. Here and there +gleamed red, distended nostrils and straining eyes. Bending above was +another wall, a wall of dusty blue coats, of grim faces, and of +dust-powdered hats. Bristling above all was a threatening crest of +waving blades. + +What would happen when the lines met? Almost before the query was +thought there came the answer. With an earth-jarring crash they came +together. The lines wavered back from the shock of impact and then the +whole struggle appeared to Pasha to centre about him. Of course this was +not so. But it was a fact that the most conspicuous figure in either +line had been that of the cream-white charger in the very centre of the +Black Horse regiment. + +For one confused moment Pasha heard about his ears the whistle and clash +of sabres, the spiteful crackle of small arms, the snorting of horses, +and the cries of men. For an instant he was wedged tightly in the +frenzied mass, and then, by one desperate leap, such as he had learned +on the hunting field, he shook himself clear. + +Not until some minutes later did Pasha notice that the stirrups were +dangling empty and that the bridle-rein hung loose on his neck. Then he +knew that at last he was free from "Mars" Clayton. At the same time he +felt himself seized by an overpowering dread. While conscious of a +guiding hand on the reins Pasha had abandoned himself to the fierce joy +of the charge. But now, finding himself riderless in the midst of a +horrid din, he knew not what to do, nor which way to turn. His only +impulse was to escape. But where? Lifting high his fine head and +snorting with terror he rushed about, first this way and then that, +frantically seeking a way out of this fog-filled field of dreadful +pandemonium. Now he swerved in his course to avoid a charging squad, now +he was turned aside by prone objects at sight of which he snorted +fearfully. Although the blades still rang and the carbines still spoke, +there were no more to be seen either lines or order. Here and there in +the dust-clouds scurried horses, some with riders and some without, by +twos, by fours, or in squads of twenty or more. The sound of shooting +and slashing and shouting filled the air. + +To Pasha it seemed an eternity that he had been tearing about the field +when he shied at the figure of a man sitting on the ground. Pasha was +about to wheel and dash away when the man called to him. Surely the +tones were familiar. With wide-open, sniffing nostrils and trembling +knees, Pasha stopped and looked hard at the man on the ground. + +"Pasha! Pasha!" the man called weakly. The voice sounded like that of +Mr. Dave. + +"Come, boy! Come, boy!" said the man in a coaxing tone, which recalled +to Pasha the lessons he had learned at Gray Oaks years before. Still +Pasha sniffed and hesitated. + +"Come here, Pasha, old fellow. For God's sake, come here!" + +There was no resisting this appeal. Step by step Pasha went nearer. He +continued to tremble, for this man on the ground, although his voice was +that of Mr. Dave, looked much different from the one who had taught him +tricks. Besides, there was about him the scent of fresh blood. Pasha +could see the stain of it on his blue trousers. + +"Come, boy. Come, Pasha," insisted the man on the ground, holding out an +encouraging hand. Slowly Pasha obeyed until he could sniff the man's +fingers. Another step and the man was smoothing his nose, still speaking +gently and coaxingly in a faint voice. In the end Pasha was assured that +the man was really the Mr. Dave of old, and glad enough Pasha was to +know it. + +"Now, Pasha," said Mr. Dave, "we'll see if you've forgotten your tricks, +and may the good Lord grant you haven't. Down, sir! Kneel, Pasha, +kneel!" + +[Illustration: "Come, boy. Come, Pasha," insisted the man on the +ground.] + +It had been a long time since Pasha had been asked to do this, a very +long time; but here was Mr. Dave asking him, in just the same tone as of +old, and in just the same way. So Pasha, forgetting his terror under the +soothing spell of Mr. Dave's voice, forgetting the fearful sights and +sounds about him, remembering only that here was the Mr. Dave whom he +loved, asking him to do his old trick--well, Pasha knelt. + +"Easy now, boy; steady!" Pasha heard him say. Mr. Dave was dragging +himself along the ground to Pasha's side. "Steady now, Pasha; steady, +boy!" He felt Mr. Dave's hand on the pommel. "So-o-o, boy; so-o-o-o!" +Slowly, oh, so slowly, he felt Mr. Dave crawling into the saddle, and +although Pasha's knees ached from the unfamiliar strain, he stirred not +a muscle until he got the command, "Up, Pasha, up!" + +Then, with a trusted hand on the bridle-rein, Pasha joyfully bounded +away through the fog, until the battle-field was left behind. Of the +long ride that ensued only Pasha knows, for Mr. Dave kept his seat in +the saddle more by force of muscular habit than anything else. A man who +has learned to sleep on horseback does not easily fall off, even though +he has not the full command of his senses. Only for the first hour or so +did Pasha's rider do much toward guiding their course. In +hunting-horses, however, the sense of direction is strong. Pasha had +it--especially for one point of the compass. This point was south. So, +unknowing of the possible peril into which he might be taking his rider, +south he went. How Pasha ever did it, as I have said, only Pasha knows; +but in the end he struck the Richmond Pike. + +[Illustration: Mr. Dave kept his seat in the saddle more by force of +muscular habit than anything else.] + +It was a pleading whinny which aroused Miss Lou at early daybreak. +Under her window she saw Pasha, and on his back a limp figure in a blue, +dust-covered, dark-stained uniform. And that was how Pasha's cavalry +career came to an end. That one fierce charge was his last. + + * * * * * + +In the Washington home of a certain Maine Congressman you may see, hung +in a place of honor and lavishly framed, the picture of a horse. It is +very creditably done in oils, is this picture. It is of a cream-white +horse, with an arched neck, clean, slim legs, and a splendid flowing +tail. + +Should you have any favors of state to ask of this Maine Congressman, it +would be the wise thing, before stating your request, to say something +nice about the horse in the picture. Then the Congressman will probably +say, looking fondly at the picture: "I must tell Lou--er--my wife, you +know, what you have said. Yes, that was Pasha. He saved my neck at +Brandy Station. He was one-half Arab, Pasha was, and the other half, +sir, was human." + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Horses Nine, by Sewell Ford + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HORSES NINE *** + +***** This file should be named 19824.txt or 19824.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/8/2/19824/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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