Again the whip descended lightly on Old Charlie’s back; but the horse did not move. This, too, was new treatment, which he did not seem in the least to understand.
By this time Captain Bill was very angry. He seized the tiller, and swept it back till the stern of the boat touched the bank. “Whip that hoss!” he cried, leaping to the tow-path, “or I’ll whip you!”
For an instant Joe stood irresolute; then, with sudden determination, he passed the handle of the whip to the angry man who faced him.
“I won’t,” he said slowly, with set teeth; “I won’t whip Old Charlie. I’ll die first!”
Infuriated beyond measure, Captain Bill seized the whip and raised it swiftly in the air. Just as it was about to descend on Joe’s head and shoulders, the frightened horse, swinging his body around nervously, caught the full force of the blow.
But it mattered little to Captain Bill. The beast was as much an object of his wrath as was the boy.
Again the whip cut the air and curled cruelly about the horse’s body. Again and again it fell, while Old Charlie, frightened and tortured, leaped and struggled for release.
Poor Joe, who was trying alternately to soothe the horse and to entreat the man who was beating him, felt every stroke of the cruel whip almost as sharply as if it had been inflicted on his own back.
At last the captain stopped.