How long it was I cannot say, but it seemed an age to me before Master appeared on the scene, and, in thunder tones, bade him cease.
Gently he drove the trembling creature from the lot. Blood trickled from some of the punctures, and as soon as she found a quiet place she lay down. Days and weeks of suffering followed, and then Master said she must be put out of her pain.
Chet was plowing with Topsy and another horse one day. The former had a sore mouth, brought on by his nervous irritating way of twitching and jerking the lines. Exasperated at last, she worked the bit up so as to hold it with her teeth.
Instantly flying into a passion, he drew his knife from his pocket and gashed her mouth far back on either side.
Such a sorry sight as she was when he, shamefacedly, led her into the stall, blood running in a stream from either side of her face.
It was not the pain—and there was plenty of that, and inconvenience, too, during the weeks following—so much as it was the injustice and cruelty that hurt sensitive, high-mettled Topsy.
There was a stormy interview between uncle and nephew in the barn, while the lacerated mouth was being sewed and dressed.
"If there was a law in this state that would touch such fellows as you are, I'd use it on you," cried Master hotly, "and there will be one; mark it!"