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White Dandy: A Horse's Story

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<h2>CHAPTER XV.</h2> That fall Master was elected to the legislature—whatever that is—and was gone pretty nearly all winter. I did not like it at all; for though Chet dare not injure me outright, he was at times very disagreeable, and I never felt safe a minute about the other animals. I did hope he would go off and study medicine, as he sometimes talked of doing. When Master came home to stay he seemed quite elated over some law they had made for the protection of dumb brutes, but he said it would be a long while before officials generally would be faithful in its enforcement. That was an unusually busy spring with the doctors, and Chet managed the farm to suit himself. Among other barbarous things he did, and allowed to be done by Paddy, who had come to work for us, was tying the young calves to stakes and leaving them there without food or water for hours. Of course, at first there was a little grass for them to nibble, but this was soon gone. Often their ropes became wound around the stakes until they could only stand helpless, with their heads drawn closely down. One pretty little heifer ("Rosebud," Bobby called her) was thus tied, and getting wound up, died a slow, torturous death. After this event he put all the young animals in a small, barren lot, where the scenes of the days of the Stringers were re-enacted. Day and night there were piteous calls for something besides dry hay. Once a day a large trough was filled with water, but this the older, stronger animals quickly drank up, and the younger, weaker ones had to go without. One calf had its leg broken in a vain effort to slake its burning thirst. With a moan of pain it dragged itself away to a fence corner and sank exhausted. Days it lingered there. A few times Carm and Paddy carried it a pail of skimmed milk or water, barely enough to prolong its agony, I thought. The supposition was that it had only hurt its leg, and would soon be better. Master was scarcely ever at home in daylight, and Bobby was made to believe the calf would soon be well. When they found it dead, its poor,[Pg 75] parched tongue protruding from its mouth, and a look of mute reproach yet in its sightless eyes, they dragged it away as unconcernedly as if it had been a stick of wood. Several times Chet tore suckling-calves from their mother's side and permitted rough men to lead, or rather drag, the pleading, frightened creatures off, paying no heed to the mother's wild agony unless to speak some hard, profane word to her. Every living creature on the place soon learned to fear and hate him. In selling any living thing he seemed to try and invent the most cruel modes of transportation, putting calves, sheep or poultry in such small cases that they would be piled on top of each other. In driving sheep, there were always serious accidents happening, and many a time has he driven fat hogs in the heat and dust until one would fall by the wayside, and then he would kick it to death. You would not take him for such a man, just seeing him about. Ordinarily he had a low, soft voice, and gentle winning ways. His influence over his brothers and the hired men was very bad. Somebody sent him a fine bird dog, as a present. "At last," I thought, "he has something that he will be good to." A friend came to visit him, and, taking Topsy and Bulow, the dog, they went for prairie chickens. Dr. Dick and I were gone when they returned, but Topsy told me about it. She said that Bulow seemed so happy on the way out, and that the men sounded his praise continually. "A fine fellow, worth fifty dollars," was his master's verdict. After a while the dog scared up a covey of chickens, and the men—rising in their seats—shot into them. "Bring in the birds," Chet said. Bulow stood by them, but refused to touch them. Again and again the order was repeated, but still the animal refused. Chet grew white with passion. "Never mind, Wallace," said his friend. "Some dogs—good[Pg 76] ones, too—never make retrievers. Something in their early training was wrong." "Bring those birds here!" roared Chet, paying no heed. The poor dog trembled from head to foot, but stood as if made of stone. A moment more and Chet had raised his gun to his shoulder and fired, filling the dumb creature's hips with shot. With a piteous whine the dog dropped to the ground. "Get up and come here!" roared his master. With an obedience that ought to have shamed the hard-hearted wretch, the animal dragged himself up and to his master's feet, blood trickling from a score or more shot holes. "Now, go bring that bird here." "I never saw such a look of piteous agony in eyes, human or brute, before," Topsy exclaimed vehemently. "It was terrible!" "Let up, Wallace; don't be a fool," cried his companion, touched by the mute suffering. "He'll mind me or I'll brain him," hissed Chet, quite beside himself. "Go!" Bulow crouched lower and feebly essayed to lick his master's boot. With an oath, the latter brought the butt of the gun down on his defenceless head, once, twice, thrice, and then there was a convulsive struggle and a dead dog lay weltering in his own blood. At another time, when Carm owned a common mongrel dog, there was a cat and three well-grown kittens at the barn. Master and Bobby had petted them until they were perfectly tame. For some reason or other, Chet determined that they must die, but instead of humanely killing them, he bade Tommy set the dog on them. This just suited the lad. Getting them all together, he gave the dog his orders. It happened right in my sight, and all I could do was to kick and neigh, but no one paid any attention. Carm and Tommy were enjoying what they called "the fun." The first kitten fought valiantly, but soon the cruel teeth[Pg 77] sank in her throat and she lay limp. It took a long and exciting chase to get hold of another one. The boys cheered lustily as the kitten fought for the life so precious to it, and the dog shook and bit it. I wondered how the former could claim to be human and yet stand unmoved at the pleading and terror in the poor little face. So cruel to thus turn upon the happy, innocent creatures, and that, too, on the very spot they had learned to love as home! Little Gray (as Bobby called her) was a mangled mass of wet fur and blood when the dog quit her, and less than an hour before she had played so prettily with her mates. Just then Bobby came out, hearing the boys' shouts of glee. She screamed at sight of her dead pets, and, flying at the dog, beat him with a piece of board. "Tom set him on," said Carm. "I'll tell Uncle Dick, that I will, and papa, too," the angry maiden cried. "Chet told me to," said Tommy. "He did? Well, if there was anything in this world that he loved, I'd kill it," she declared with blazing eyes, "but he don't love anything." There were high words between Chet and Master that noon, and I heard the former mutter as he walked off: "Old meddler, I'll give you something to make a row about one of these times." A few days later, poor old puss, while looking for mice in a bin of grain, put her paw into a steel trap that had been placed there by Tommy, on purpose. "I'll finish this cat somehow," he said. It was late at night when puss was caught, that is, after the work was all done, and I cannot bear to even think of the torture she must have endured all those long hours until daylight. Paddy found her when he went for oats. "Mercy on us!" he cried, as he caught sight of the wild, glaring eyeballs. She was almost mad with the long strain and agony. [Pg 78] Not daring to touch her, he ran for a gun, but the boys, suspecting what was going on, rushed into the barn ahead of him, and shouted with fiendish glee when they saw her. "Pull her out," shouted Tommy, and loosing the chain that held the trap, they flung that and the suffering creature rudely on the floor. Her paw was crushed at the main joint. I can never forget the look in her eyes as she watched Paddy point the gun, but I am thankful that the next moment ended her misery. Delighted with his success at "trapping," as he called it, Tommy rearranged the trap, but, unknown to him, Paddy removed and hid it. "It's jest the way with half the folks in the world," the latter muttered; "they have hearts like flint stones." And I knew his words were true, else people would be more considerate and merciful. <hr class="chap" /> [Pg 79] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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