“I got ’im where ’e grew, sonny, but they aint no more like ’im, so you needn’t go lookin’ for one.”
“But I want to know—”
“You don’t want to know nothin’. You go ten’ to them hosses,” interrupted Captain Bill. “See where the boat’s gittin’ to. Mind your business and stop asking questions.”
“But that horse—”
“Never mind that hoss. You ten’ to business. He’s my hoss now!”
“No, he’s not your horse! He’s my father’s horse. He was stolen from my father’s barn. He—”
The captain took one step toward the boy, fastened his hand in Joe’s collar, and dragged and pushed him to his post.
Joe was frightened and cowed. His lips turned white. He dared no longer disobey.
He went ahead and resumed his monotonous duties, but in his brain was a whirlpool of rage.
The rain fell harder than ever; the wind blew in fierce gusts; the tow-path was muddy beyond description. It was a day on which neither man nor beast should have labored except under shelter.