Beautiful Joe - Marshall Saunders (the reading strategies book .TXT) 📗
- Author: Marshall Saunders
Book online «Beautiful Joe - Marshall Saunders (the reading strategies book .TXT) 📗». Author Marshall Saunders
otherwise, and then with many horses one requires a whip in case of
necessity for urging them forward.
"I suppose Fleetfoot never balks," said Miss Laura.
"No," replied Mr. Harry; "Dutchman sometimes does, and we have two cures
for him, both equally good. We take up a forefoot and strike his shoe
two or three times with a stone. The operation always interests him
greatly, and he usually starts. If he doesn't go for that, we pass a
line round his forelegs, at the knee joint, then go in front of him and
draw on the line. Father won't let the men use a whip, unless they are
driven to it."
"Fleetfoot has had a happy life, hasn't he?" said Miss Laura, looking
admiringly at him. "How did he get to like you so much, Harry?"
"I broke him in after a fashion of my own. Father gave him to me, and
the first time I saw him on his feet, I went up carefully and put my
hand on him. His mother was rather shy of me, for we hadn't had her
long, and it made him shy too, so I soon left him. The next time I
stroked him; the next time I put my arm around him. Soon he acted like a
big dog. I could lead him about by a strap, and I made a little halter
and a bridle for him. I didn't see why I shouldn't train him a little
while he was young and manageable. I think it is cruel to let colts run
till one has to employ severity in mastering them. Of course, I did not
let him do much work. Colts are like boys--a boy shouldn't do a man's
work, but he had exercise every day, and I trained him to draw a light
cart behind him. I used to do all kinds of things to accustom him to
unusual sounds. Father talked a good deal to me about Rarey, the great
horse-tamer, and it put ideas into my head. He said he once saw Rarey
come on a stage in Boston with a timid horse that he was going to
accustom to a loud noise. First a bugle was blown, then some louder
instrument, and so on, till there was a whole brass band going. Rarey
reassured the animal, and it was not afraid."
"You like horses better than any other animals, don't you, Harry?" asked
Miss Laura.
"I believe I do, though I am very fond of that dog of yours. I think I
know more about horses than dogs. Have you noticed Scamp very much?"
"Oh, yes; I often watched her. She is such an amusing little creature."
"She's the most interesting one we've got, that is, after Fleetfoot.
Father got her from a man who couldn't manage her, and she came to us
with a legion of bad tricks. Father has taken solid comfort though, in
breaking her of them. She is his pet among our stock. I suppose you know
that horses, more than any other animals, are creatures of habit. If
they do a thing once, they will do it again. When she came to us, she
had a trick of biting at a person who gave her oats. She would do it
without fail, so father put a little stick under his arm, and every time
she would bite, he would give her a rap over the nose. She soon got
tired of biting, and gave it up. Sometimes now, you'll see her make a
snap at father as if she was going to bite, and then look under his arm
to see if the stick is there. He cured some of her tricks in one way,
and some in another. One bad one she had was to start for the stable the
minute one of the traces was unfastened when we were unharnessing. She
pulled father over once, and another time she ran the shaft of the sulky
clean through the barn door. The next time father brought her in, he got
ready for her. He twisted the lines around his hands, and the minute she
began to bolt, he gave a tremendous jerk, that pulled her back upon her
haunches, and shouted, 'Whoa!' It cured her, and she never started
again, till he gave her the word. Often now, you'll see her throw her
head back when she is being unhitched. He only did it once, yet she
remembers. If we'd had the training of Scamp, she'd be a very different
animal. It's nearly all in the bringing up of a colt, whether it will
turn out vicious or gentle. If any one were to strike Fleetfoot, he
would not know what it meant. He has been brought up differently from
Scamp.
"She was probably trained by some brutal man who inspired her with
distrust of the human species. She never bites an animal, and seems
attached to all the other horses. She loves Fleetfoot and Cleve and
Pacer. Those three are her favorites."
"I love to go for drives with Cleve and Pacer," said Miss Laura, "they
are so steady and good. Uncle says they are the most trusty horses he
has. He has told me about the man you had, who said that those two
horses knew more than most 'humans.'"
"That was old Davids," said Mr. Harry; "when we had him, he was courting
a widow who lived over in Hoytville. About once a fortnight, he'd ask
father for one of the horses to go over to see her. He always stayed
pretty late, and on the way home he'd tie the reins to the whip-stock
and go to sleep, and never wake up till Cleve or Pacer, whichever one he
happened to have, would draw up in the barnyard. They would pass any
rigs they happened to meet, and turn out a little for a man. If Davids
wasn't asleep, he could always tell by the difference in their gait
which they were passing. They'd go quickly past a man, and much slower,
with more of a turn out, if it was a team. But I dare say father told
you this. He has a great stock of horse stories, and I am almost as bad.
You will have to cry 'halt,' when we bore you."
"You never do," replied Miss Laura. "I love to talk about animals. I
think the best story about Cleve and Pacer is the one that uncle told me
last evening. I don't think you were there. It was about stealing the
oats."
"Cleve and Pacer never steal," said Mr. Harry. "Don't you mean Scamp?
She's the thief."
"No, it was Pacer that stole. He got out of his box, uncle says, and
found two bags of oats, and he took one in his teeth and dropped it
before Cleve, and ate the other himself, and uncle was so amused that he
let them eat a long time, and stood and watched them."
"That _was_ a clever trick," said Mr. Harry. "Father must have forgotten
to tell me. Those two horses have been mates ever since I can remember,
and I believe if they were separated, they'd pine away and die. You have
noticed how low the partitions are between the boxes in the horse
stable. Father says you wouldn't put a lot of people in separate boxes
in a room, where they couldn't see each other, and horses are just as
fond of company as we are. Cleve and Pacer are always nosing each other.
A horse has a long memory. Father has had horses recognize him, that he
has been parted from for twenty years. Speaking of their memories
reminds me of another good story about Pacer that I never heard till
yesterday, and that I would not talk about to any one but you and
mother. Father wouldn't write me about it, for he never will put a line
on paper where any one's reputation is concerned."
* * * * *
CHAPTER XXVI (THE BOX OF MONEY)
"This story," said Mr. Harry, "is about one of the hired men we had last
winter, whose name was Jacobs. He was a cunning fellow, with a hangdog
look, and a great cleverness at stealing farm produce from father on the
sly, and selling it. Father knew perfectly well what he was doing, and
was wondering what would be the best way to deal with him, when one day
something happened that brought matters to a climax.
"Father had to go to Sudbury for farming tools, and took Pacer and the
cutter. There are two ways of going there--one the Sudbury Road, and the
other the old Post Road, which is longer and seldom used. On this
occasion father took the Post Road. The snow wasn't deep, and he wanted
to inquire after an old man who had been robbed and half frightened to
death, a few days before. He was a miserable old creature, known as
Miser Jerrold, and he lived alone with his daughter. He had saved a
little money that he kept in a box under his bed. When father got near
the place, he was astonished to see by Pacer's actions that he had been
on this road before, and recently, too. Father is so sharp about horses,
that they never do a thing that he doesn't attach a meaning to. So he
let the reins hang a little loose, and kept his eye on Pacer. The horse
went along the road, and seeing father didn't direct him, turned into
the lane leading to the house. There was an old red gate at the end of
it, and he stopped in front of it, and waited for father to get out.
Then he passed through, and instead of going up to the house, turned
around, and stood with his head toward the road.
"Father never said a word, but he was doing a lot of thinking. He went
into the house, and found the old man sitting over the fire, rubbing his
hands, and half-crying about 'the few poor dollars,' that he said he had
had stolen from him. Father had never seen him before, but he knew he
had the name of being half silly, and question him as much as he liked,
he could make nothing of him. The daughter said that they had gone to
bed at dark the night her father was robbed. She slept up stairs, and he
down below. About ten o'clock she heard him scream, and running down
stairs, she found him sitting up in bed, and the window wide open. He
said a man had sprung in upon him, stuffed the bedclothes into his
mouth, and dragging his box from under the bed, had made off with it.
She ran to the door and looked out, but there was no one to be seen. It
was dark, and snowing a little, so no traces of footsteps were to be
perceived in the morning.
"Father found that the neighbors were dropping in to bear the old man
company, so he drove on to Sudbury, and then returned home. When he got
back, he said Jacobs was hanging about the stable in a nervous kind of a
way, and said he wanted to speak to him. Father said very good, but put
the horse in first. Jacobs unhitched, and father sat on one of the
stable benches and watched him till he came lounging along with a straw
in his mouth, and said he'd made up his mind to go West, and he'd like
to set off at once.
"Father said again, very good, but first he had a little account to
settle with him, and he took out of his pocket a paper, where he had
jotted down, as far as he could, every quart of oats, and every bag of
grain, and every quarter of a dollar of market money that Jacobs had
defrauded him of. Father said the fellow turned all the colors of the
rainbow, for he thought he had covered up his
Comments (0)