“And can’t you come to the window in the further stable, where we’ve talked many a time before?” suggested the siren. “It’s something about the horse I want to tell you, a dodge they’re going to try to prevent his winning to-morrow. You don’t think I’d have come out at this time o’night for nothing, do you, stupey?” This intelligence chased away Joe’s last lingering scruple, and muttering—
“About t’horse!—why did na thee say so afore?” he lit a hand-lantern at the lamp which hung from the ceiling, and assuring himself by a glance that his charge was in safety, quitted the stable by a side-door.
In the meantime, the occupant of the loft had not been idle. As soon as Joe became engrossed by the foregoing conversation, the sound of a fine saw at work might have been perceived by a more delicate organisation than that of the sturdy groom; and at the moment in which he left the stable two of the bars of the rack were silently removed, and through the opening thus effected a man cautiously lowered himself, and resting his feet for an instant on the manger, dropped lightly into the box occupied by Tartuffe.
This feat was accomplished so quietly, that the horse, which happened not to be lying down, but was standing, trying, through its muzzle, to nibble the straw of its bed, was scarcely startled, merely raising its head and staring at its unexpected visitant. This individual now produced from his mysterious pocket a handful of oats, and holding them out, allowed Tartuffe to smell and nibble at them; while the animal was thus engaged, he removed the muzzle, worn for the purpose of preventing it from eating its litter, or otherwise gaining access to any food of which the trainer might disapprove. His next proceeding was to draw out that ingenious instrument of torture yclept a twitch, which, for the benefit of those of our lady readers who do not happen to be gifted with “a stable mind,” or to have encouraged sporting tendencies, we may describe as a short, thick stick or handle, about two feet long, terminated by a loop of stout whipcord or leather, into which the upper-lip, or occasionally the ear of the horse, is inserted; then, by twisting the stick, the loop can be tightened so as to produce any amount of agony the inflicter may desire: the philosophy of the matter being, that the animal finding his struggles exactly double his pain, soon has sense enough to choose the lesser of two evils, and therefore stands still while nasty things are being forced down his throat and other liberties taken with him, which, but for the application of the twitch, he would actively resent. In the present instance, while the unfortunate Tartuffe was still chewing the oats by which his confidence had been betrayed, the twitch was fixed on his nose, tightened, and the nauseating ball which was to impair his strength and fleetness, and secure the victory to the Dodona Colt, and fortune to Lord Bellefield, was already in his mouth ere he was aware that any incivility was intended him. To give a horse a ball, however, it is not only necessary to put it into its mouth but to thrust it back as far as, if possible, the entrance of the gullet, and this operation, even when performed in the most skilful manner, is by no means easy to the operator or agreeable to the patient. In this last particular the victimised Tartuffe appeared to be entirely of our opinion; the blood of his noble ancestors stirred within him, and tossing up his head indignantly, he became practically aware of the full virtues of the twitch; the pain, however, only served to increase his rage, and he attempted to rear; but his struggles were vain; his tormentor pertinaciously clung to him, the ball was thrust further back in the mouth, and in another moment the desired object would have been attained, when suddenly the loop of the twitch, unable to bear the strain upon it, snapped. The first use the racehorse made of his freedom was to shake his head violently, and at the same time opening his mouth, the stupefying ball dropped from it.
We must now return to our friend, Yorkshire Joe, who, suspecting no evil, was engaged in interesting colloquy with the perfidious Mary; this seductive young lady having contrived, with a degree of ingenuity worthy a better cause, to prolong the interview by the following expedients. First, she assailed her admirer with coquettish reproaches for his unkindness and want of gallantry in refusing to speak to her; then she entered into a long account of how and when and where she had discovered the pretended design against Tartuffe, which she affirmed was to be put into execution two hours from that time.
“Eh! What! tie my hands behoind me, shove a gag into my mouth, and then and there lame t’horse afore my very eyes—dost thee say, lass? I’d only like to see the man, or men either, that could do it!” exclaimed Joe, doubling his fist indignantly; “and thee heard this in the tap-room of the Chequers, dost thee say?—What was that noise?”
“Nothing. I dropped one of my pattens, that was all,” returned the girl, stooping as if to pick it up, though she was not sorry for an excuse to hide her agitation, for her quick ear had detected the sound of a horse’s hoofs trampling on straw, and she knew that her accomplice was at work. “Why, you are quite startlish to-night, Joe!” she resumed, looking up at him with a forced smile; “did you think it was a ghost?—but it’s no wonder you’re nervous; it’s hard lines for you, poor fellow, sitting up at nights like this——”