When he returned, Finn Caspersen had his coat and hat off and was sprawled in a deep leather chair. “Nice place you have here, and I’m making myself right at home,” he said. “Hope you don’t mind.”
“No, I don’t mind,” Bill answered.
Finn picked up the book and thumbed the pages, finding it difficult to read in the room’s dim light. The narrow windows, he thought, should be widened to let in more light and air. He decided that if he ever got around to owning a house he’d do a lot more besides widening windows. For one thing, he’d do away with dark, gloomy wallpaper such as this room had. In its place he’d put up a bright, cheerful pattern and he wouldn’t care at all what people thought of him for doing it. He’d throw out all the heavy black-walnut furniture that was so popular as well as these horsehair-stuffed chairs and couches. He’d get something light and comfortable, that’s what he’d do!
He glanced up from the book. “I can’t see very well.”
Bill Dailey hurriedly lit a gas lamp.
“That’s better,” and Finn smiled. “Thanks.”
“This book’s an old one belonging to my father,” Bill said. “I couldn’t find any others on horse management an’ I’ve been trying everywhere.”
“I’ll bet you have,” Finn mused while turning the pages.
“I don’t think it’s very good. There’s nothing in it that’ll help anybody in real trouble,” Bill explained.
For several minutes Finn Caspersen read in silence, then he asked, “You mean something like this won’t work?” He handed the open book to Bill Dailey and indicated the following paragraph:
Great Secret for Taming
Take one pound of oatmeal, a quarter pound of honey, half Lawrance and make into a cake and bake. Put the cake into your bosom and keep it there until it sweats. When the horse has fasted twelve or twenty-four hours give it to him to eat. Then use him kindly and gently.
“I’ll bet we could sell a lot of those cakes, Bill,” Finn suggested, smiling. “Read the next one too. I like that even better.”
Arabian Secret
To make a wild horse approachable or a vicious horse gentle, take two parts of the oil of rhodium and one each of cumin and anise. Put in a bottle and cork tightly until ready for use. A little of this is to be rubbed on the hands, and while held before the horse approach from the windward side. When near enough, rub a little on the nose and in ten or twenty minutes the horse will be ready to receive your kindness and plan of teaching.
When Bill Dailey handed back the book, Finn asked again, “Won’t they work?”
“No better than apples or anything else that a horse is fond of,” Bill answered. “The only thing that really works comes from here.” He tapped his head. Then, sternly, he said, “You’re not figurin’ on turning us into a medicine show, are you? ’Cause if you are …”
“No, no,” the big man replied hastily. “I was just asking, Bill. I didn’t mean anything by it.
“Say, let me tell you about ‘The Whisperer,’ ” Caspersen went on, anxious to see a change in the stern look on Bill’s face. “This book kind of makes me think of him. I knew him when I was a kid living in Mallow in the County of Cork, Ireland. We called him The Whisperer because he’d put his mouth to a horse’s ear as if he were whispering something to him, and he had quite a local reputation for his power over horses. Some people even thought his powers were supernatural.”
Finn Caspersen stopped a moment and when he continued there was more of an Irish lilt to his voice than ever before. “Shure and I remember our parish priest crossin’ to the other side of the street, he did, whenever The Whisperer came along! ’Tis the truth I speak when I say he thought the man was in league with the very divil himself!”
Finn laughed heartily and it was a few moments before he turned again to Bill Dailey. All the recklessness was back in his voice when he said, “Now, Bill, I’m not suggesting for a minute that we sell taming medicine, but where would be the harm in whispering in a horse’s ear? I heard you carrying on quite a conversation with Wild Bess. It’s great showmanship.”
Bill Dailey couldn’t help smiling. “All right, Finn,” he said, “whispering once in a while won’t do any harm. But remember, we’re going to play this straight or not at all. There’s not going to be any trickery. Right?”
“No trickery,” the big man agreed.
“No magic words,” Bill went on.
“No magic words,” Finn repeated.
“No taming medicines.”
The big man shrugged his shoulders and repeated, “No taming medicines.” His eyes met Bill’s. “What do we have left?” he asked.
“Hard work.”
“No nothing,” Finn summed up, closing the book, “but I’m game to try it.”
THUNDER ROLLS
5
Finn Caspersen stood on a box in front of the largest livery stable in Pottstown. He had rented the stable for Bill Dailey’s first public appearance as a horse-tamer. Tacked on the doors were handbills which he had designed himself and had distributed about town. At the top was a drawing of Wild Bess with her teeth bared. The announcement read:
FOR ONE DAY ONLY
GREAT HORSE-TAMER OF THE WORLD, THE AUTHOR OF A NEW SYSTEM, PROFESSOR WILLIAM DAILEY, WHO RECENTLY TAMED THE WORST BITING HORSE IN THE COUNTY, MR. A. J. BOYER’S WILD BESS, WILL APPEAR AT THE MAIN ST. LIVERY STABLE, MONDAY, NINE A.M. SHARP.
The big man peered down at the crowd. “More than fifty of your friends and neighbors are already inside, folks, waiting for the Professor to begin his instruction in the world’s best system of horse taming.”
He stopped to wave away some boys who were trying to peek through the cracks in the closed doors.
“You will be astonished, my friends,” he continued, “by the ease with which Professor Dailey subdues some of the most vicious and ungovernable specimens of the horse fraternity to be found in this vicinity. You will find both amusement and instruction in witnessing the skill with which he handles the hitherto incorrigible subjects brought forward to test his new doctrine. Before your very eyes he will subdue the wildest and most stubborn cases, attaining complete subjection and docility. Like Wild Bess, whom he tamed for Mr. Boyer just a week ago, they will be horses you know well from this very neighborhood. Yes, my friends, you will be astonished and astounded by the ease with which Professor Dailey brings them all under the control of Man! You will see him jump upon their backs, slide off and handle them without their showing the least disposition to bite or kick!”
Finn Caspersen paused, and a man called out, “For how much money?”
“For only five dollars, sir, truly a most reasonable fee for such combined entertainment and instruction!” He waved in the direction of his flat-bed wagon in which he had brought his most prized merchandise–several fine clocks, silver-handled buggy whips, rare books and guns.
“These are just a few of the valuable and voluntary gifts the Professor has received from grateful members of his classes,” he lied. “I know there must be many among you who have difficult horses that you cannot manage and—”
A man interrupted defiantly, “My name is Clayton and I have such a horse but I do not care to join any horse-taming class. I can do as much with a horse as any man. I do not want instruction but I will gladly sell you the horse!” He laughed loudly and the crowd joined him.
Finn Caspersen waited soberly for the laughter to die down, then he said in his most courteous manner, “We do not want to buy your horse. But I’ll tell you what we’ll do, sir. If you join the class and bring your horse for Professor Dailey to experiment upon I promise that he will be gentled within twenty minutes!”
“Without hurting him?” the man asked disbelievingly.
“I guarantee Professor Dailey will not injure him the slightest bit.”
The man was enjoying his role. “And what if your great horse-tamer doesn’t gentle him in twenty minutes?”
Finn Caspersen smiled. He knew he had won over not onl
y this man but the whole crowd as well. “If he doesn’t, sir, I will charge you nothing for the instruction and will also buy you the best suit of clothes to be found in Pottstown!”
The crowd roared and the man shouted, “I will come on those conditions. I know that no man living can tame my horse within that time!”
From that moment on Finn Caspersen had no trouble selling the rest of his tickets.
The livery-stable ring was smaller than Bill Dailey would have liked it to be. Before him rose a high tier of seats filled to capacity, just as Finn had promised. The trouble was that if anything went wrong, someone might get hurt.
“I am no magician,” Bill told the throng, his stern gaze sweeping the stands. “Neither am I a humbug as some of you might think.” Tight-lipped, he paused a moment, waiting for a possible jeer. But no one challenged him. He knew what he had to say and he knew too that he would say it well, thanks to Finn’s patient coaching.
“I seek only peace for the long-abused horses of our land,” he went on. “Too many professional horsemen have kept what they know to themselves, with some even pretending they have secret powers. There is no mystery to controlling horses. All it takes is skillful, intelligent handling. When a horse becomes vicious or unmanageable it is as the result of ignorance and bad treatment. I propose to educate owners as well as their horses, and to do so without tricks or deceit. There are no secrets to my system. It is based on these simple facts, which anyone can learn.
“First, horses can be molded by firmness and kindness. Second, because they have brains it is possible to reach an understanding with them. Third, it is not difficult to do this if you go about it the right way. For example, if a horse’s trouble is caused by fear, you show him that there’s no reason to be afraid. If it’s viciousness, which is far more dangerous, you must rid him of it by kind but firm treatment.”
From the upper seats a man shouted, “Show us, Professor, that’s what we came for—not a lecture!”
The sternness remained in Bill Dailey’s eyes as he ignored the man’s interruption. “I have challenged you to produce horses that you think I cannot handle. They are here, waiting to be tamed. In all frankness, what I am about to do here is foreign to my real purpose, which is not to exhibit feats of taming but to create more interest in the fundamentals of control. If these horses had been handled properly they would never have become vicious, ill-mannered and headstrong, dangerous not only to you and me but to men, women and children on our streets. They are capable of killing and maiming, causing destruction of life and property. They never should have been allowed to reach this condition and you owners are primarily at fault!”
The man to whom Finn Caspersen had promised a suit of clothes if Bill failed to tame his horse stood up and said loudly for all to hear, “Sir, I am one of those owners who await your education. Now, I do not consider myself a fool with horses. I have handled them all my life and can drive any common horse as well as the average man. I cannot see how it is possible by any reasonable treatment to control such a stallion as mine in the short time of twenty or thirty minutes which you claim to be able to do. It is contrary to all reason! I would be afraid to undertake to lead him into this ring without the aid of two good men for I doubt that we would be able to hold him. Why, he has never been harnessed or put in shafts in his life.”
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 fro
m 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.”
HORSE MAGIC
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.