Wheeling, flaring their wet nostrils, throwing up their manes, striking the earth in a quandary, they came on, whinnied faintly, and he knew what it was to be afraid.
He had never been afraid and he went down on his knees. With a new horror in his heart he damned them. He turned his eyes up, but he could not open them. He thought rapidly, calling on Freda in his heart, speaking tenderly, promising.
A flare of heat passed his throat, and descended into his bosom.
"I want to live. I can do it—damn it—I can do it. I can forge ahead, make my mark."
He forgot where he was for a moment and found new pleasure in this spoken admission, this new rebellion. He moved with the faint shaking of the earth like a child on a woman's lap.
The upraised hoofs of the first horse missed him, but the second did not.
And presently the horses drew apart, nibbling here and there, switching their tails, avoiding a patch of tall grass.
LONG, LONG AGO[6]
By FREDERICK ORIN BARTLETT