Authors: Walter Farley
The Horse Tamer (6 page)
Pausing, the man turned to the others sitting around him. “I must warn you all that to experiment upon my horse in a crowded place such as this will not only be extremely difficult but exceedingly dangerous as well. The greatest care must be taken to guard
against an accident resulting in serious harm to one or more of us.” He sat down abruptly.
There was a smile on Bill Dailey’s thin lips as he said, “There is no need to be afraid. I shall lead Mr. Clayton’s horse before you without danger to yourselves. And I shall do it within twenty minutes. However, as I explained to Mr. Clayton a few minutes ago, there is much more to it. His horse Thunder will have to be treated at home according to my directions. I can do little more at this time than to make it possible for him to handle his horse and then prescribe further treatment. This applies to all of you whose horses I shall experiment upon. The after-treatment is most important in the management of every case, and I am at your call if you need help. Without the after-treatment your horses will not remain gentle. The methods I use may seem ludicrously simple to you. But they are in truth very beneficial and when properly applied will enable you, too, to continue effective control over your horses.”
Turning away from the crowd, Bill Dailey went to the first stall where Mr. Clayton’s chestnut stallion, Thunder, awaited him.
He was a large-boned horse, strong and compact. Bill estimated his age at about eight—an adult horse, strong-willed and capable of putting up the hardest kind of resistance. It had taken four men to bring him to the stables. Only a show of overpowering force would make any kind of an impression on Thunder.
Carrying his rope throwing rig, Bill spoke to the horse and entered the stall. Thunder was tied but nevertheless he lashed out with a hind leg. Bill worked quickly, his rope pliable from years of use. One loop
with a large metal ring at the top went around the horse’s girth. Another loop extended from it to the dock of the tail, acting as a crupper. Bill adjusted both loops to size and then tightened them. Next he took a strong cord from his pocket and fastened one end to the top of the girth loop, just above the metal ring. He carried the cord to Thunder’s halter and then back
through the metal ring, taking up slack. There was only one more thing left to do. He quickly picked up the horse’s rear forefoot and, using a short leather strap, buckled it to the girth loop. Now he had Thunder standing on only three legs.
“Now,
back
up,” he said quietly but firmly, untying the horse.
As the stallion hopped backwards, his owner’s voice shrilled, “I warn you, gentlemen! I warn you again to move up from all the lower seats. My horse cannot possibly be controlled by one man when he is free of his stall!”
The stallion lunged forward and Bill jumped aside to avoid colliding with him. Then he tightened the cord quickly. Thunder’s head was pulled around and his weight was thrown onto the same side as his disabled foot. He couldn’t keep his balance and fell easily, rolling over on his side. Bill slackened the cord and the stallion jumped up, lunging at him again. Bill hopped in a circle and pulled on the cord.
Down went Thunder once more, rolling over almost on his back this time. Bill slackened the cord and the stallion jumped to his feet.
Bill lost track of how many times he threw Thunder before the horse finally lay quiet with the cord slack. Bill went toward him then, his hands moving gently over Thunder’s neck and head. For only a moment was there any resistance to his touch, then the giant muscles relaxed.
“Now get up, big fellow,” Bill said softly, taking Thunder by the halter.
The stallion got to his feet and Bill continued stroking him. Finally he reached down and released the foot strap. Thunder stood quietly, and when Bill led him around the ring he was as gentle as a horse could be. The crowd watched in stunned silence.
After a few minutes Mr. Clayton rose to his feet. “You have worked some magic upon him!” he shouted.
“No, I used only common sense and a little skill
which you, too, can learn,” Bill answered. Mr. Clayton, defeated for the moment, sat down.
“We do not believe you!” another man called. “I know this horse well and I assisted Mr. Clayton in trying to gentle him many times. We used nearly thirty dollars’ worth of heavy leather rigging on him and he kicked himself loose from all of it!”
Bill Dailey smiled. “My throwing rig can be made of any old rope in a few minutes’ time and costs practically nothing. It does the job and yet there’s no danger of hurting the horse. With it any man of ordinary strength can throw the strongest horse as quickly and as often as the animal gets up. Also, he can hold him down or roll him back as he pleases. The horse’s resistance is thereby quickly broken. Its effect is no different from that of a stripling throwing a bully twice his size with ease–assuming some skill on the stripling’s part, of course. The bully finally quits and stops being quarrelsome and browbeating weaker people. I would now like to explain how and when to use my rig,” he concluded.
Mr. Clayton rose again, his face flushed with anger. “Only medicine or something of that kind could enable you to accomplish such a feat as this!” He paused while the men around him nodded encouragement. “Sir, we would like to smell your hands and clothing.”
For a moment Bill Dailey stood silently bewildered; then he said sadly, “Come along then, if that is where we must begin. There is still much work to be done.”
ORSE
M
AGIC
6
The next issue of the weekly Pottstown
Times
carried the following story:
Professor Wm. Dailey, the horse-tamer, has been in town the past week and has created a great stir among our horsemen. So great was the interest aroused by his first appearance that he was asked to remain longer. Prof. Dailey formed a school which was largely attended during the week by those interested in such matters, including many of our best citizens who have fine horses, and it seems to have been altogether satisfactory.
Indeed, it is the opinion of this writer that it is fortunate for Prof. Dailey that this is not an age when men are executed for witchcraft. Had he lived in Salem in 1692 and exhibited, as he has here, his power over refractory horses, he would have been hanged, as sure as fate, for a wizard.
Actually, we are not certain that he does not practice some sort of witchery in his management of horses.
Mr. Roy Clayton’s chestnut stallion, well known through the county for his viciousness, was first introduced and within a few minutes Prof. Dailey had him acting the part of a well-trained horse. Next came a spirited mare, whose stubbornness was not so readily but no less surely overcome. She was followed by an old stager, known locally as Betsy Lou, who for years had defied every blacksmith in the county. After five minutes’ training by Prof. Dailey she stood quiet as a lamb while her feet were handled and hammered in true blacksmith style. There was another splendid horse whose principal fault seemed to be unusual fright at the sight of an umbrella. Within a very short space of time Prof. Dailey was able to move one of these articles before him and over his body without the horse showing the slightest fear of it. The last horse in the first day’s exhibition was a puller on the bit who was beaten neatly at his own game and yielded handsomely, assuring Prof. Dailey of complete success for the day’s work.
No one, however, can form an idea of his wonderful power over horses until he witnesses proof of it. To see a horse furious, stubborn, defiant, with the very devil in his eyes, calmed down by some mysterious power, rendered docile, patiently submissive and allowing every liberty to be taken with him, is hard to believe even though this marvelous transformation takes place before your very eyes!
Prof. Dailey has left Pottstown in order to fulfill numerous engagements throughout the county. We wish him continued success.
At home Bill Dailey threw down the newspaper. “It sounds as though you talked to this reporter,” he told Finn Caspersen.
“Not at all. Had nothing to do with it.”
“Then someone ought to tell him that there was no witchery to what I did in Pottstown. Those who attended my classes can now do what I did.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Finn replied quietly. “But they’re better off than they were.”
“So are their horses,” Hank spoke up from a nearby couch.
“So are their horses,” Finn repeated. “Say, Bill, now that you’re a success and going on …”
“To Reading?” Bill asked. “Did you make the arrangements?”
Finn nodded his head. “The circulars are printed and up. I rented a bigger place this time, an old riding school.” He ran a hand through his unruly hair. “You didn’t whisper to the horses last week as you said you would occasionally. I was figuring that maybe in Reading …”
Bill Dailey left the table to get a drink of water. When he returned he said, “I’m goin’ to be honest with people, Finn, and if you don’t like it that way …”
“Aw, Bill, don’t get sore now. I’m not asking you to be dishonest, just a little more of a
showman
. Give the people what they want, that’s all. If you’re going to talk to horses—and you do, you know—why can’t you
whisper to them once in a while? It’s not going to do any harm and the people will love it. Besides, if they want to smell your hands and clothes, let them. Don’t keep
insisting
there’s no magic to what you do.” He paused, his eyes holding Bill’s. “There is, you know.”
“You too?” Bill Dailey asked with bewilderment.
“Walking into that Clayton horse’s stall and coming out alive was magic,” Finn answered quietly. “He didn’t
have
to get over as you told him to do. He could have kicked you into the stands before you got that rope rig on him.”
Bill Dailey laughed and suddenly all the tension between the two men was gone. “That’s not magic, Finn, that’s
pretendin’
. When I looked him straight in the eye he had no idea how uneasy I was.”
“You’re not going to teach people things like that,” Finn argued. “They either have it or they don’t have it. So what I’m getting at is this: if they want to call what you do magic, let them. Don’t just keep insisting it isn’t.”
“But that’s exactly what I’m tryin’ to accomplish,” Bill explained again.
“You’re trying to
reach
people,” Finn corrected. “And unless you give them what they want you’re not going to have an audience big enough to fill even a small livery stable. I know. I’m outside trying to get them inside. I know what they want. We ought to have a band and some trained ponies and horses to go along with us, too. You could show them how you drive without reins. We’d really pack them in, Bill. Just think of the number of people you’d be reaching and educating!”
Bill Dailey went to the kitchen window and looked
out at the stable below. “If I did all that, you’d want to sell taming medicines next,” he said, suddenly very tired. “You’d turn us into a medicine show.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Finn answered. “But even you said that the Arabian Secret stuff worked as well as apples or anything else a horse was fond of. The point I’m trying to make is that if people want to buy something more expensive than apples we might as well sell it to them.”
“It’s dishonest. If you start doing that, you’ll end up selling—well, tincture of lobelia.”
“What’ll that do?” Finn asked curiously.
“Two ounces of it will make a vicious horse so sick he can’t resist handling or anything else.”
“Oh,” Finn said. “A gypsy told me about something like that once. He said all you had to do to handle a bad horse was to boil a plug of tobacco in a gallon of ale and give it to him. What’s wrong with that kind of taming?”
“The same as what’s wrong with tying a horse down without food or water for days at a time, that’s what!” Bill Dailey said sharply. “Any way you weaken a horse makes him gentle but when he recovers he’s as bad as ever.”
Bill Dailey sat down again, a tired look in his eyes. “But most important of all, such practices are cruel, Finn. I’ve known some of those medicines to cause severe colic and death. So if I ever catch you even thinkin’ …”