Trooper Tales — page 231: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Story of a Cavalry Horse. 215 head, and another pressed a biting, burning steel into the glossy softness of his shoulder. For an eternity it seemed to sizzle into the writhing flesh; then again the red iron was pressed against the tenderest skin under the mane. _ After that there was weakness and nausea and the wounds gradually healed into the mark by which every cavalry horse can be distinguished. “U. S$.” is what the letters read. Then followed the week’s ride to the regiment—that stifling ride in a freight car—packed flank to flank so that there would be no injury from the jolting of the train. Oh, how the unhealed shoulders rubbed and burned! The black gelding’s limbs stung with weariness; his tongue was shrunken and dried from thirst, his whole body craved for hay and grain. The tightening lariat, the burning steel, the killing ride—all helped to create in the brute mind a lasting horror toward human kind and wicked thoughts. Is it any wonder that some troop- horses are painfully.slow in giving their trust to the cav- alryman who grooms and cares for them? But the glossy three-year-old was not ruined by the suffering of those first days. Perhaps it was a perfect balance of mind, which the old lady back in the meadows had given him, which caused the black recruit to, suffer and be gentle still. There was wonderment and fear in those great, dark eyes, but no sullen hatred lurked there. The shapely youngster staggered out into the clear day- light, trembling for the events which another day might bring, yet hoping for brighter things. A detachment of GOMIGdOoOKSsEoO -