"You ain't thirsty?" mocked the man with a jeering laugh. "You're lying, an' you know it. Get down!"
"Hones' to God, Nick, I don't want no drink," whimpered Joe, as his master toyed with the quirt suggestively.
"Get down, I tell you!" commanded the big man.
Joe obeyed, his thin form shaking with fear, and stood shrinking against his horse's side, his fearful eyes fixed on the man.
"Now, come here."
"Don't, Nick; for God's sake! don't hit me. I didn't mean no harm. Let me off this time, won't you, Nick?"
"Come here. You got it comin', damn you, an' you know it. Come here, I say!"
As if it were beyond his power to refuse, the wretched creature took a halting step or two toward the man whose brutal will dominated him; then he paused and half turned, as if to attempt escape. But that menacing voice stopped him.
"Come here!"
Whimpering and begging, with disconnected, unintelligible words, the poor fellow again started toward the man with the quirt.