"Not after you'd had a few lessons," the man replied. "When they cease that motion, I have seen them flung clear out of the box. I saw one thrown in a regular somersault, and so badly injured about the head and neck that it had to be killed."
Master sat in the buggy until the machine stopped.
"How long do you usually run without resting?" he asked one of the sawyers.
"Two hours sometimes, and even longer."
"Why, man, it is enough to wear out cast-iron horses," he cried.
"They do get mighty tired," replied the fellow, coolly, "especially old Polly here, but you see she is stone-blind and about wore out anyhow, so it is all she's good for."
"And have you no feeling for a dumb brute, one that has served you well, too, but just to get what you can out of her? Do you never feel any pity for her, knowing that she is as susceptible to suffering as a human being?
"Have you ever tried to put yourself in her place, sightless, old, terrified and weak?"
"Naw," the man answered, doggedly, "she's only an old horse."
The other man was leading poor Polly from the trap now, and we could see that her legs trembled and her body was dripping with perspiration.