A	>>	B	>>	C	>>	D	>>	E
F	>>	G	>>	H	>>	I	>>	J
K	>>	L	>>	M	>>	N	>>	O
P	>>	R	>>	S	>>	T	>>	U
V	>>	W	>>			X	>>	Z

Torquato Tasso - "Jerusalem Delivered"

Honore de Balzac - "Paz"

Frederick A. Talbot - "Aeroplanes and Dirigibles of War"

Thomas Hart Benton - "Remarks to the United States Senate"

Animal Heroes

E >> Ernest Thompson Seton >> Animal Heroes




"Number three!" he called to his partner.

Out leaped the Little Warhorse,--black and white his great ears,
easy and low his five-foot bounds; gazing wildly at the unwonted
crowd about the Park, he leaped high in one surprising spy-hop.

"Hrrrrr!" shouted the slipper, and his partner rattled a stick on
the fence. The Warhorse's bounds increased to eight or nine feet.

"Hrrrrrr!" and they were ten or twelve feet. At thirty yards the
Hounds were slipped--an even slip; some thought it could have
been done at twenty yards.

"Hrrrrrr! Hrrrrrrr!" and the Warhorse was doing fourteen-foot
leaps, not a spy-hop among them.

"Hrrrrr! "wonderful Dogs! how they sailed; but drifting ahead of
them, like a white sea-bird or flying scud, was the Warhorse.
Away past the Grand Stand. And the Dogs--were they closing the
gap of start? Closing! It was lengthening! In less time than it
takes to tell it, that black-and-white thistledown had drifted
away through the Haven door,--the door so like that good old
hen-hole,--and the Grey-hounds pulled up amidst a roar of
derision and cheers for the Little Warhorse. How Mickey did
laugh! How Dignam did swear! How the newspaper men did
scribble--scribble--scribble!

Next day there was a paragraph in all the papers: "WONDERFUL FEAT
OF A JACKRABBIT. The Little Warhorse, as he has been styled,
completely skunked two of the most famous Dogs on the turf," etc.

There was a fierce wrangle among the dog-men. This was a tie,
since neither had scored, and Minkie and her rival were allowed
to run again; but that half-mile had been too hot, and they had
no show for the cup.

Mickey met "Diamonds" next day, by chance.

"Have a cigar, Mickey."

"Oi will thot, sor. Faix, thim's so foine; I'd loike two--thank
ye, sor."


VIII

From that time the Little Warhorse became the pride of the Irish
boy. Slipper Slyman had been honorably reinstated and Mickey
reduced to the rank of Jack-starter, but that merely helped to
turn his sympathies from the Dogs to the Rabbits, or rather to
the Warhorse, for of all the five hundred that were brought in
from the drive he alone had won renown. There were several that
crossed the Park to run again another day, but he alone had
crossed the course without getting even a turn. Twice a week the
meets took place; forty or fifty Jacks were killed each time, and
the five hundred in the pen had been nearly all eaten of the
arena.

The Warhorse had run each day, and as often had made the Haven.
Mickey became wildly enthusiastic about his favorite's powers. He
begot a positive affection for the clean-limbed racer, and
stoutly maintained against all that it was a positive honor to a
Dog to be disgraced by such a Jack.

It is so seldom that a Rabbit crosses the track at all, that when
Jack did it six times without having to dodge, the papers took
note of it, and after each meet there appeared a notice: "The
Little Warhorse crossed again today; old-timers say it shows how
our Dogs are deteriorating."

After the sixth time the rabbit-keepers grew enthusiastic, and
Mickey, commander-in-chief of the brigade, became intemperate in
his admiration. "Be jabers, he has a right to be torned loose. He
has won his freedom loike ivery Amerikin done," he added, by way
of appeal to the patriotism of the Steward of the race, who was,
of course, the real owner of the Jacks.

"All right, Mick; if he gets across thirteen times you can ship
him back to his native land," was the reply.

"Shure now, an' won't you make it tin, sor?"

"No, no; I need him to take the conceit out of some of the new
Dogs that are coming."

"Thirteen toimes and he is free, sor; it's a bargain."

A new lot of Rabbits arrived about this time, and one of these
was colored much like Little Warhorse. He had no such speed, but
to prevent mistakes Mickey caught his favorite by driving him
into one of the padded shipping-boxes, and proceeded with the
gate-keeper's punch to earmark him. The punch was sharp; a clear
star was cut out of the thin flap, when Mickey exclaimed: "Faix,
an' Oi'll punch for ivery toime ye cross the coorse." So he cut
six stars in a row. "Thayer now, Warrhorrse, shure it's a free
Rabbit ye'll be when ye have yer thirteen stars like our flag of
liberty hed when we got free."

Within a week the Warhorse had vanquished the new Greyhounds and
had stars enough to go round the right ear and begin on the left.
In a week more the thirteen runs were completed, six stars in the
left ear and seven in the right, and the newspapers had new
material.

"Whoop!" How Mickey hoorayed! "An' it's a free Jack ye are,
Warrhorrse! Thirteen always wuz a lucky number. I never knowed it
to fail."


IX

"Yes, I know I did," said the Steward. "But I want to give him
one more run. I have a bet on him against a new Dog here. It
won't hurt him now; he can do it. Oh, well. Here now, Mickey,
don't you get sassy. One run more this afternoon. The Dogs run
two or three times a day; why not the Jack?"

"They're not shtakin' thayre loives, sor."

"Oh, you get out."

Many more Rabbits had been added to the pen,--big and small,
peaceful and warlike,--and one big Buck of savage instincts,
seeing Jack Warhorse's hurried dash into the Haven that morning,
took advantage of the moment to attack him.

At another time Jack would have thumped his skull, as he once did
the Cat's, and settled the affair in a minute; but now it took
several minutes, during which he himself got roughly handled; so
when the afternoon came he was suffering from one or two bruises
and stiffening wounds; not serious, indeed, but enough to lower
his speed.

The start was much like those of previous runs. The Warhorse
steaming away low and lightly, his ears up and the breezes
whistling through his thirteen stars.

Minkie with Fango, the new Dog, bounded in eager pursuit, but, to
the surprise of the starters, the gap grew smaller. The Warhorse
was losing ground, and right before the Grand Stand old Minkie
turned him, and a cheer went up from the dog-men, for all knew
the runners. Within fifty yards Fango scored a turn, and the race
was right back to the start. There stood Slyman and Mickey. The
Rabbit dodged, the Greyhounds plunged; Jack could not get away,
and just as the final snap seemed near, the Warhorse leaped
straight for Mickey, and in an instant was hidden in his arms,
while the starter's feet flew out in energetic kicks to repel the
furious Dogs. It is not likely that the Jack knew Mickey for a
friend; he only yielded to the old instinct to fly from a certain
enemy to a neutral or a possible friend, and, as luck would have
it, he had wisely leaped and well. A cheer went up from the
benches as Mickey hurried back with his favorite. But the dog-men
protested "it wasn't a fair run--they wanted it finished." They
appealed to the Steward. He had backed the Jack against Fango. He
was sore now, and ordered a new race.

An hour's rest was the best Mickey could get for him. Then he
went as before, with Fango and Minkie in pursuit. He seemed less
stiff now--he ran more like himself; but a little past the Stand
he was turned by Fango and again by Minkie, and back and across,
and here and there, leaping frantically and barely eluding his
foes. For several minutes it lasted. Mickey could see that Jack's
ears were sinking. The new Dog leaped. Jack dodged almost under
him to escape, and back only to meet the second Dog; and now both
ears were flat on his back. But the Hounds were suffering too.
Their tongues were lolling out; their jaws and heaving sides were
splashed with foam. The Warhorse's ears went up again. His
courage seemed to revive in their distress. He made a straight
dash for the Haven; but the straight dash was just what the
Hounds could do, and within a hundred yards he was turned again,
to begin another desperate game of zigzag. Then the dog-men saw
danger for their Dogs, and two new ones were slipped--two fresh
Hounds; surely they could end the race. But they did not. The
first two were vanquished--gasping--out of it, but the next two
were racing near. The Warhorse put forth all his strength. He
left the first two far behind--was nearly to the Haven when the
second two came up.

Nothing but dodging could save him now. His ears were sinking,
his heart was pattering on his ribs, but his spirit was strong.
He flung himself in wildest zigzags. The Hounds tumbled over each
other. Again and again they thought they had him. One of them
snapped off the end of his long black tail, yet he escaped; but
he could not get to the Haven. The luck was against him. He was
forced nearer to the Grand Stand. A thousand ladies were
watching. The time limit was up. The second Dogs were suffering,
when Mickey came running, yelling like a
madman--words--imprecations--crazy sounds:

"Ye blackguard hoodlums! Ye dhirty, cowardly bastes!" and he
rushed furiously at the Dogs, intent to do them bodily harm.

Officers came running and shouting, and Mickey, shrieking hatred
and defiance, was dragged from the field, reviling Dogs and men
with every horrid, insulting name he could think of or invent.

"Fair play! Whayer's yer fair play, ye liars, ye dhirty cheats,
ye bloody cowards!" And they drove him from the arena. The last
he saw of it was the four foaming Dogs feebly dodging after a
weak and worn-out Jack-rabbit, and the judge on his Horse
beckoning to the man with the gun.

The gate closed behind him, and Mickey heard a bang-bang, an
unusual uproar mixed with yelps of Dogs, and he knew that Little
Jack Warhorse had been served with finish No. 4.

All his life he had loved Dogs, but his sense of fair play was
outraged. He could not get in, nor see in from where he was. He
raced along the lane to the Haven, where he might get a good
view, and arrived in time to see--Little Jack Warhorse with his
half-masted ears limp into the Haven; and he realized at once
that the man with the gun had missed, had hit the wrong runner,
for there was the crowd at the Stand watching two men who were
carrying a wounded Greyhound, while a veterinary surgeon was
ministering to another that was panting on the ground.

Mickey looked about, seized a little shipping-box, put it at the
angle of the Haven, carefully drove the tired thing into it,
closed the lid, then, with the box under his arm, he scaled the
fence unseen in the confusion and was gone.

'It didn't matter; he had lost his job anyway.' He tramped away
from the city. He took the train at the nearest station and
travelled some hours, and now he was in Rabbit country again. The
sun had long gone down; the night with its stars was over the
plain when among the farms, the Osage and alfalfa, Mickey
Doo opened the box and gently put the Warhorse out.

Grinning as he did so, he said: "Shure an' it's ould Oireland
thot's proud to set the thirteen stars at liberty wance moore."

For a moment the Little Warhorse gazed in doubt, then took three
or four long leaps and a spy-hop to get his bearings. Now
spreading his national colors and his honor-marked ears, he
bounded into his hard-won freedom, strong as ever, and melted
into the night of his native plain.

He has been seen many times in Kaskado, and there have been many
Rabbit drives in that region, but he seems to know some means of
baffling them now, for, in all the thousands that have been
trapped and corralled, they have never since seen the
star-spangled ears of Little jack Warhorse.


SNAP

THE STORY OF A BULL-TERRIER

I

It was dusk on Hallowe'en when first I saw him. Early in the
morning I had received a telegram from my college chum Jack:
"Lest we forget. Am sending you a remarkable pup. Be polite to
him; it's safer." It would have been just like Jack to have sent
an infernal machine or a Skunk rampant and called it a pup, so I
awaited the hamper with curiosity. When it arrived I saw it was
marked "Dangerous," and there came from within a high-pitched
snarl at every slight provocation. On peering through the wire
netting I saw it was not a baby Tiger but a small white
Bull-terrier. He snapped at me and at any one or anything that
seemed too abrupt or too near for proper respect, and his
snarling growl was unpleasantly frequent. Dogs have two growls:
one deep-rumbled, and chesty; that is polite warning--the retort
courteous; the other mouthy and much higher in pitch: this is the
last word before actual onslaught. The Terrier's growls were all
of the latter kind. I was a dog-man and thought I knew all about
Dogs, so, dismissing the porter, I got out my all-round
jackknife--toothpick--nailhammer-hatchet-toolbox-fire-shovel, a
specialty of our firm, and lifted the netting. Oh, yes, I knew
all about Dogs. The little fury had been growling out a
whole-souled growl for every tap of the tool, and when I turned
the box on its side, he made a dash straight for my legs. Had not
his foot gone through the wire netting and held him, I might have
been hurt, for his heart was evidently in his work; but I stepped
on the table out of reach and tried to reason with him. I have
always believed in talking to animals. I maintain that they
gather something of our intention at least, even if they do not
understand our words; but the Dog evidently put me down for a
hypocrite and scorned my approaches. At first he took his post
under the table and kept up a circular watch for a leg trying to
get down. I felt sure I could have controlled him with my eye,
but I could not bring it to bear where I was, or rather where he
was; thus I was left a prisoner. I am a very cool person, I
flatter myself; in fact, I represent a hardware firm, and, in
coolness, we are not excelled by any but perhaps the nosy
gentlemen that sell wearing-apparel. I got out a cigar and smoked
tailor-style on the table, while my little tyrant below kept
watch for legs. I got out the telegram and read it: "Remarkable
pup. Be polite to him; it's safer." I think it was my coolness
rather than my politeness that did it, for in half an hour the
growling ceased. In an hour he no longer jumped at a newspaper
cautiously pushed over the edge to test his humor; possibly the
irritation of the cage was wearing off, and by the time I had lit
my third cigar, he waddled out to the fire and lay down; not
ignoring me, however, I had no reason to complain of that kind of
contempt. He kept one eye on me, and I kept both eyes, not on
him, but on his stumpy tail. If that tail should swing sidewise
once I should feel I was winning; but it did not swing. I got a
book and put in time on that table till my legs were cramped and
the fire burned low. About 10 P.M. it was chilly, and at
half-past ten the fire was out. My Hallowe'en present got up,
yawned and stretched, then walked under my bed, where he found a
fur rug. By stepping lightly from the table to the dresser, and
then on to the mantel-shelf, I also reached bed, and, very
quietly undressing, got in without provoking any criticism from
my master. I had not yet fallen asleep when I heard a slight
scrambling and felt "thump-thump" on the bed, then over my feet
and legs; Snap evidently had found it too cool down below, and
proposed to have the best my house afforded.

He curled up on my feet in such a way that I was very
uncomfortable and tried to readjust matters, but the slightest
wriggle of my toe was enough to make him snap at it so fiercely
that nothing but thick woollen bedclothes saved me from being
maimed for life.

I was an hour moving my feet--a hair's-breadth at a time--till
they were so that I could sleep in comfort; and I was awakened
several times during the night by angry snarls from the Dog--I
suppose because I dared to move a toe without his approval,
though once I believe he did it simply because I was snoring.

In the morning I was ready to get up before Snap was. You see, I
call him Snap-Ginger-snap in full. Some Dogs are hard to name,
and some do not seem to need it--they name themselves.

I was ready to rise at seven. Snap was not ready till eight, so
we rose at eight. He had little to say to the man who made the
fire. He allowed me to dress without doing it on the table. As I
left the room to get breakfast, I remarked:

"Snap, my friend, some men would whip you into a different way,
but I think I know a better plan. The doctors nowadays favor the
'no-breakfast cure.' I shall try that."

It seemed cruel, but I left him without food all day. It cost me
something to repaint the door where he scratched it, but at night
he was quite ready to accept a little food at my hands.

In a week we were very good friends. He would sleep on my bed now
and allow me to move my feet without snapping at them, intent to
do me serious bodily harm. The no-breakfast cure had worked
wonders; in three months we were--well, simply man and Dog, and
he amply justified the telegram he came with.

He seemed to be without fear. If a small Dog came near, he would
take not the slightest notice; if a medium-sized Dog, he would
stick his stub of a tail rigidly up in the air, then walk around
him, scratching contemptuously with his hind feet, and looking at
the sky, the distance, the ground, anything but the Dog, and
noting his presence only by frequent high-pitched growls. If the
stranger did not move on at once, the battle began, and then the
stranger usually moved on very rapidly. Snap sometimes got
worsted, but no amount of sad experience could ever inspire him
with a grain of caution. Once, while riding in a cab during the
Dog Show, Snap caught sight of an elephantine St. Bernard taking
an airing. Its size aroused such enthusiasm in the Pup's little
breast that he leaped from the cab window to do battle, and broke
his leg.

Evidently fear had been left out of his make-up and its place
supplied with an extra amount of ginger, which was the reason of
his full name. He differed from all other Dogs I have ever known.
For example, if a boy threw a stone at him, he ran, not away, but
toward the boy, and if the crime was repeated, Snap took the law
into his own hands; thus he was at least respected by all. Only
myself and the porter at the office seemed to realize his good
points, and we only were admitted to the high honor of personal
friendship, an honor which I appreciated more as months went on,
and by midsummer not Carnegie, Vanderbilt, and Astor together
could have raised money enough to buy a quarter of a share in my
little Dog Snap.


II

Though not a regular traveller, I was ordered out on the road in
the autumn, and then Snap and the landlady were left together,
with unfortunate developments. Contempt on his part--fear on
hers; and hate on both.

I was placing a lot of barb-wire in the northern tier of States.
My letters were forwarded once a week, and I got several
complaints from the landlady about Snap.

Arrived at Mendoza, in North Dakota, I found a fine market for
wire. Of course my dealings were with the big storekeepers, but I
went about among the ranchmen to get their practical views on the
different styles, and thus I met the Penroof Brothers'
Cow-outfit.

One cannot be long in Cow country now without hearing a great
deal about the depredations of the ever wily and destructive
Gray-wolf. The day has gone by when they can be poisoned
wholesale, and they are a serious drain on the rancher's profits.
The Penroof Brothers, like most live cattle-men, had given up all
attempts at poisoning and trapping, and were trying various
breeds of Dogs as Wolf-hunters, hoping to get a little sport out
of the necessary work of destroying the pests.

Foxhounds had failed--they were too soft for fighting; Great
Danes were too clumsy, and Greyhounds could not follow the game
unless they could see it. Each breed had some fatal defect, but
the cow-men hoped to succeed with a mixed pack, and the day when
I was invited to join in a Mendoza Wolf-hunt, I was amused by the
variety of Dogs that followed. There were several mongrels, but
there were also a few highly bred Dogs--in particular, some
Russian Wolfhounds that must have cost a lot of money.

Hilton Penroof, the oldest boy, "The Master of Hounds," was
unusually proud of them, and expected them to do great things.

"Greyhounds are too thin-skinned to fight a Wolf, Danes are too
slow, but you'll see the fur fly when the Russians take a hand."

Thus the Greyhounds were there as runners, the Danes as heavy
backers, and the Russians to do the important fighting. There
were also two or three Foxhounds, whose fine noses were relied on
to follow the trail if the game got out of view.

It was a fine sight as we rode away among the Badland Buttes that
October day. The air was bright and crisp, and though so late,
there was neither snow nor frost. The Horses were fresh, and once
or twice showed me how a Cow-pony tries to get rid of his rider.

The Dogs were keen for sport, and we did start one or two gray
spots in the plain that Hilton said were Wolves or Coyotes. The
Dogs trailed away at full cry, but at night, beyond the fact that
one of the Greyhounds had a wound on his shoulder, there was
nothing to show that any of them had been on a Wolf-hunt.

It's my opinion yer fancy Russians is no good, Hilt," said
Garvin, the younger brother. "I'll back that little black Dane
against the lot, mongrel an' all as he is."

"I don't unnerstan' it," growled Hilton. "There ain't a Coyote,
let alone a Gray-wolf, kin run away from them Greyhounds; them
Foxhounds kin folly a trail three days old, an' the Danes could
lick a Grizzly."

"I reckon," said the father, "they kin run, an' they kin track,
an' they kin lick a Grizzly, maybe, but the fac' is they don't
want to tackle a Gray-wolf. The hull darn pack is scairt--an' I
wish we had our money out o' them."

Thus the men grumbled and discussed as I drove away and left
them.

There seemed only one solution of the failure. The Hounds were
swift and strong, but a Gray-wolf seems to terrorize all Dogs.
They have not the nerve to face him, and so, each time he gets
away, and my thoughts flew back to the fearless little Dog that
had shared my bed for the last year. How I wished he was out
here, then these lubberly giants of Hounds would find a leader
whose nerve would not fail at the moment of trial.

At Baroka, my next stop, I got a batch of mail including two
letters from the landlady; the first to say that "that beast of a
Dog was acting up scandalous in my room," and the other still
more forcible, demanding his immediate removal.
"Why not have him expressed to Mendoza?" I thought. "It's only
twenty hours; they'll be glad to have him. I can take him home
with me when I go through."


III

My next meeting with Gingersnap was not as different from the
first as one might have expected. He jumped on me, made much
vigorous pretense to bite, and growled frequently, but it was a
deep-chested growl and his stump waggled hard.

The Penroofs had had a number of Wolf-hunts since I was with
them, and were much disgusted at having no better success than
before. The Dogs could find a Wolf nearly every time they went
out, but they could not kill him, and the men were not near
enough at the finish to learn why.

Old Penroof was satisfied that "thar wasn't one of the hull
miserable gang that had the grit of a Jack-rabbit."

We were off at dawn the next day--the same procession of fine
Horses and superb riders; the big blue Dogs, the yellow Dogs, the
spotted Dogs, as before; but there was a new feature, a little
white Dog that stayed close by me, and not only any Dogs, but
Horses that came too near were apt to get a surprise from his
teeth. I think he quarrelled with every man, Horse, and Dog in
the country, with the exception of a Bull-terrier belonging to
the Mendoza hotel man. She was the only one smaller than himself,
and they seemed very good friends.

I shall never forget the view of the hunt I had that day. We were
on one of those large, flat-headed buttes that give a kingdom to
the eye, when Hilton, who had been scanning the vast country with
glasses, exclaimed: "I see him. There he goes, toward Skull
Creek. Guess it's a Coyote."

Now the first thing is to get the Greyhounds to see the prey--not
an easy matter, as they cannot use the glasses, and the ground
was covered with sage-brush higher than the Dogs' heads.

But Hilton called, "Hu, hu, Dander," and leaned aside from his
saddle, holding out his foot at the same time. With one agile
bound Dander leaped to the saddle and there stood balancing on
the Horse while Hilton kept pointing. "There he is, Dander; sic
him--see him down there." The Dog gazed earnestly where his
master pointed, then seeming to see, he sprang to the ground with
a slight yelp and sped away. The other Dogs followed after, in an
ever-lengthening procession, and we rode as hard as we could
behind them, but losing time, for the ground was cut with
gullies, spotted with badger-holes, and covered with rocks and
sage that made full speed too hazardous.

We all fell behind, and I was last, of course, being least
accustomed to the saddle. We got several glimpses of the Dogs
flying over the level plain or dropping from sight in gullies to
reappear at the other side. Dander, the Greyhound, was the
recognized leader, and as we mounted another ridge we got sight
of the whole chase--a Coyote at full speed, the Dogs a quarter of
a mile behind, but gaining. When next we saw them the Coyote was
dead, and the Dogs sitting around panting, all but two of the
Foxhounds and Gingersnap.

Copyright (c) 2007. fullstories.net. All rights reserved.