The Horse Tamer (7 page)

“Now, Bill,” Finn said uncomfortably. “I wasn’t thinking of anything but our show.”

“It’s not a show. It’s a
class
. You’ve got to get that
through your head, Finn. I’m aimin’ to teach horse owners simple methods of control which will benefit both themselves and their horses. I want them to see that they can manage horses quietly and with no whipping or thrashing, no mauling or brawling.”

“They’ll still want to smell your clothes and hands,” Finn said.

“I suppose so.”

“They’ll never think of you as anything but a showman.”

“Some of them will,” Bill said doggedly.

“They’ll always want you to tame the most vicious, the worst-mannered horses in town. You’ll risk your neck every time.”

“I guess so.”

“For peanuts,” Finn pointed out.

“For peanuts,” Bill repeated.

“My way we could play the biggest cities and fairs,” Finn went on. “We could have our own canvas, large enough for hundreds, maybe thousands of people to watch. We’d put on a real show like Buffalo Bill does.” Finn Caspersen shrugged his big shoulders. “Maybe I ought to go home and leave you alone. I got a hunch we’d both be better off.”

“Go ahead, if that’s the way you feel,” Bill said.

Finn started to get up, then sat down again. “No, on second thought I’m going to stick around. Somewhere along the line you might change your mind about a lot of things, especially people. You haven’t met as many as I have in my business. You’ll get tired of having them smell your hands and clothes and asking to buy your
secret
taming medicines. Most people
want everything made easy for them, even easier than the methods you’d like to teach them. When that time comes you’ll start listening to me and that’s when we’ll start making money, Bill—real money, piles of it, more money than you ever dreamed of making in your life!”

Bill Dailey was smiling. “I don’t dream about things like that,” he said.

“You wouldn’t,” Finn said soberly, going to the door.

“Oh, Finn …”

“Yes, Bill?”

“I didn’t tell you that I got a letter the other day from a Dr. Harrison, who heard we were comin’ to Reading. He’s got a tough horse named Tar Heel …”

“Did you tell him to bring him to us?”

“He can’t. He’s afraid to take him out of his stall.”

“I get it,” Finn said knowingly. “He wants you to stop off on your way.”

Bill nodded.

“If you can’t do anything with Tar Heel he’s going to have him shot or something,” Finn guessed.

Bill nodded again.

“And the doctor can’t afford to pay you anything for your work.”

Bill nodded, his eyes squinting in puzzlement. “How’d you know all that?” he asked.

“I didn’t,” Finn answered. “I just know
you.
” The door closed behind his towering hulk as he left the room.

Dr. Harrison lived in a two-story house next to a hospital and within easy reach of the center of Reading. He sat on a straight black-walnut chair and said, “It was very good of you to come, Professor, and I hope you’ll be able to do something for my horse. No one else can.”

“Is he a valuable horse?” Bill asked.

“As a foal he was looked upon as the most promising youngster in the state, being of the best trotting blood. Now I’m afraid he’s known far and wide for his viciousness.”

“When did it start?”

“At eighteen months he would look at a man pleasantly, yet bite, strike or kick as soon as he was within reach. He would fight as coolly and desperately as the very worst of brutes. If he could not reach a person with his forefeet or mouth, he would wheel and kick with the quickness of a mule.”

“Yet you kept him.”

“I had hopes of his changing as he grew older,” the doctor answered.

“And did he?”

“No, I’m afraid he got worse, simply because no one could handle him. Many highly recommended horse-breakers tried and failed. Then I secured the services of Ralph Smith, one of our most successful and experienced local horsemen. He seemed to be getting along fairly well with Tar Heel until one morning, while Ralph was feeding him, the horse jumped for him, catching hold of his jacket and lifting him off the floor … and Mr. Smith weighs one hundred and eighty pounds.”

Dr. Harrison’s gaze shifted from Bill Dailey to the big man and the boy sitting on the couch. There was grave concern in his mild blue eyes.

“Mr. Smith was thrown to the floor of the stall,” he went on, “and then Tar Heel actually
kneeled
on him. It was at that moment that I heard Mr. Smith’s screams. A patient was visiting me and together we grabbed pitchforks and succeeded in getting the horse away from Mr. Smith before he could do further injury. Although all this happened six months ago, Mr. Smith is still under my care.”

“Who’s been taking care of Tar Heel since then?” Bill asked.

“I have. I’ve kept him shut up in his stall, waiting for such a man as you to come along. I cannot give him to anyone. I fear him and yet it is against my principles to have him destroyed. If you can subdue him, you will prove to me that you are the greatest horse-tamer in the world.”

Dr. Harrison rose to his feet. “I’ll take you to him now. The men you wanted here are waiting at the stable.”

Bill Dailey stood up, his eyes puzzled. “Men? I asked for no men. Who are they?”

“Why, several of our most prominent citizens and a reporter from the newspaper,” the doctor answered, his gaze shifting to Finn Caspersen. “Mr. Caspersen called yesterday and said …”

“I understand now,” Bill said, turning and staring at the big man.

Finn shrugged his heavy shoulders, avoiding Bill’s eyes. “Yes, Doctor, we’d like the people of Reading to know exactly how the Professor manages such a brute as yours. It is my hope that it will be fully reported in the newspaper.”

“I’m sure it will,” the doctor answered, leading the way. “Everybody knows Tar Heel’s reputation.”

“Don’t let me down,” Finn told Bill as they left the room. “We could use this publicity.”

A small group of men awaited them outside the stable. Dr. Harrison made the introductions but Bill Dailey’s eyes were on a dog in the next yard; it had hold of its tail and was circling crazily.

A few minutes later Bill got his first look at Tar Heel. He was of the finest blood, as the doctor had said. He was coal black and light-boned, weighing not much over a thousand pounds. He moved about his box stall with all the grace of a panther, his head constantly turning toward the door. He was in every respect a model of flowing grace. But his eyes gave him
away. They were snakelike. His forehead, too, was a little too low. Bill would have known without being told that here was a horse who would look pleasantly at a man one minute and strike the next.

Tar Heel was not too unlike Wild Bess, the main difference being that he had not been made vicious by incompetent handling or lack of care and kindness. No, Tar Heel had been born with a vicious quirk and would require careful management throughout his life. He was no horse for Dr. Harrison or for anyone else who was not an expert horseman. But that could be said later. Now …

Bill Dailey went to the stall door. The most vicious horses were not always the most difficult to handle. If no one had tried cruel, old-fashioned methods on them, which was not the case here, they were very often the easiest to tame. But Tar Heel had been taught cunning and treachery to the highest degree by those who had attempted to manage him and failed.

Through the bars Bill watched the angry flashing of Tar Heel’s eyes. The most dangerous thing of all would be what he had to do within the next few seconds. If he could reach the animal’s side before Tar Heel turned upon him, he had a chance to go to work. The horse was wearing a halter and from it a lead rope still hung. How long had Tar Heel carried it? Since the day he had pulled it out of Ralph Smith’s hands, seeking to maim and kill?

Opening the door, Bill spoke sharply. “Get around!” There was no outward evidence of his uneasiness. He knew that stallions above all other animals
could sense strength or timidity in a man. If Tar Heel didn’t yield to him in the next few seconds, the contest would be over before it had begun.

He looked straight into the stallion’s eyes and saw the split second of indecision at his sharply spoken command. The moment had come and it took every bit of his courage to move forward. Softly, quickly, he crossed the straw to Tar Heel’s side. He stood midway between the horse’s head and hindquarters. If he had been too near Tar Heel’s head the horse would have struck and bitten him. To have been too near the hindquarters would have given Tar Heel a chance to kick. Bill kept him undecided, unbalanced.

“Be still,” he commanded firmly.

Those watching thought that the first thing Bill Dailey would do would be to reach for the halter. But he didn’t. Instead, his right hand darted quickly from his side as he lowered his body slightly. When he had straightened he was holding the end of Tar Heel’s long tail in his hands and, in a twinkling, had tied a knot in it. Tar Heel too was suddenly in action. The horse whirled around, reaching for the man with pointed head and bared teeth.

Bill kept close to Tar Heel, holding the long tail with one hand and reaching for the dangling halter rope with the other. He got hold of it and, bringing it back to the tail and through the hairs above the knot, tied it quickly. Then he jumped back. There was nothing more to be done just then. Tar Heel was tied to his own tail.

The rope was long enough to enable the horse to go around in a circle but not so short as to cause him to
fall. Raging at the tug on his tail, Tar Heel went around faster and faster, like a pinwheel, while Bill Dailey watched and waited for him to expend his strength and energy. It would be easy after that. He wondered if the dog outside was still playing with its tail. The only difference between it and Tar Heel was that the stallion wasn’t playing. He was fighting furiously without hurting anyone or himself.

As Finn Caspersen watched the spinning horse it seemed to him that they had the most exciting act in show business. He turned to the local people, glad he had invited them, especially the newspaperman. Leaning over, he told the reporter confidentially, as if all this had been foreseen, “And you might tell your readers, too, sir, that Professor Dailey will drive this black demon about the city for them to see the morning of our first exhibition at the old riding school.… ”

The next day Tar Heel’s taming was fully reported in glowing terms to the readers of the Reading
Tribune
, assuring Bill Dailey of a large audience when he opened on Monday.

Monday morning Bill drove Tar Heel through Reading as Finn had committed him to doing. He hitched the black horse at Penn Square before a large crowd.

Finn stood by, noting with pleasure the looks of astonishment upon the spectators’ faces. “Yes, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “this is the demon who was known to you only a few days ago as the most vicious horse of any age in the Reading area. Under Professor Dailey’s skilled hands he has become as mild as a lamb. If we were to turn him loose he would wander about among you like an old truck horse!

“You can see that Professor Dailey has him under perfect control,” Finn went on. “Note also that Tar Heel will be driven without even so much as a strap to keep the wagon from striking his heels. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the Professor has completely gentled this wonderful horse, making him safe for your crowded streets.”

Finn got into the rear of the wagon where he had
Hank holding a large American flag. He waved his stovepipe hat to the crowd and Bill took up the reins, clucking to Tar Heel. It was in this spectacular manner that they drove through the main streets of Reading.

During the week that followed, Bill made other concessions to Finn’s persistent demands for more showmanship in conducting their classes. He was willing to oblige so long as they were honest demands. He bought Tar Heel from Dr. Harrison at Finn’s urging, knowing that the doctor could never keep the black horse gentle anyway. He taught Tar Heel to go without reins and drove him at the beginning of each class. Up to a point, he admitted, Finn was right. More and more people came to see Tar Heel, and as a result he was able to help more of them with their own horses.

At the end of his stay in Reading, the
Tribune
carried the following story:

“We’ve done it,” Finn said, putting down the paper.

“Done what?” Bill wanted to know.

“Made ourselves famous, boy. Your services are going to be in demand from now on!”

Finn was right. Bill Dailey’s reputation for handling fractious horses spread quickly throughout the state and invitations to exhibit his skill came from everywhere. The three traveled from town to town, taming horses, educating owners and, even though Bill charged only a small fee for his services and sometimes nothing at all, making more money than any of them had ever seen before.

Finn Caspersen bought a new suit. It was bottle green and had gilt buttons. With it he wore a yellow-striped waistcoat, a silk topper, white gloves and a flower in his buttonhole.

“It’s just for the show,” he said offhandedly.

Finn insisted, too, that they buy a new coach for their transportation from engagement to engagement. It was a Tallyho drawn by four white horses whom Bill taught to caper and rear at will. Seldom was so fashionable a sight seen outside New York City and people lined the roads to look in astonishment as Bill Dailey’s sensational four-in-hand passed by. Only young Hank was unhappy, for Finn insisted that he sit high up on the back seat, waving a large American flag.