Correcting by sunlight

And so with horses. Imported horses fail to breed healthfully in the damp provinces of India and Brazil, while horse sickness makes a clean sweep of them in many parts of Africa. It is probable, with horses as with men, that no sudden importation to regions outside their native zone of sunlight results in permanent healthy breeding. The imported strain dies out unless it is constantly renewed. Hordes of Asiatics with Dun horses have swept from time to time into Europe, and into India, but Dun horses are scarce in both regions, and do not exist in large numbers except in Scandinavia and in Katywar.

So the strong action of man in sudden floodings of Europe with Bays from the desert, Duns from the steppe, is outweighed by a stronger law of nature. With strains of horses as with tribes of man, the penalty for sudden migration from their native zone of light is gradual extinction.

Yet is there one difference between Bays and Duns. The Dun is not worth renewing, and so dies out unnoticed. The Bay is worth breeding and so persists.

PART IX. THE BRAND OF EUROPE.

The brand of Europe

In nature's immense and gentle processes, throughout the amazing story of the Europe horse, the bewildering actions of forgotten tribes of men, and the sun's own slow adjustments, a single force persists in branding the stock with a sign of ownership.

A partial eclipse of the sun had made his figure that of the crescent moon. Standing under some oak trees, beside the road puddles made by recent rain, I noticed that the bars of reduced sunlight which came down through the leafage shone upon the little patches of water. The image of the crescent sun was reflected upside down.

The bar of sunlight coming down through leafage acts as a lens to the sun's image. The woodland glade is a camera. The coat of a woodland animal is coloured by the direct action of light, is sensitive to light, is a sensitized film for colour photography. To the peculiar reversed and condensed rays shining through leafage into the woodland camera, the coat of the horse responds, forming rings of deeper colour limited to the parts of the animal which are exposed to direct light. In the course of many generations, the rings become permanent and are known as dapples. The dappling in the dappled light of woodlands gives concealment both to hunting leopards and to hunted horses.

Since dapples have not been traced to any other country, and may well be native to woodlands of Western Europe, it seems fair reasoning which gives that special quality of colour to a type we will now define as the European horse. I do not contend that the woodlands were more extensive than the open downs, or that any large proportion of European horses developed dapples. I do contend that a certain stocky build and well conditioned heaviness of type more or less dappled is characteristic of Western Europe, just as a more or less striped Dun is typical of Asia, and more or less striped Bay typical of Northern Africa.

Professor Ridgeway's theories

I am nothing more than an old rough-neck. My poor little theories about the Europe horse have the impudence to contradict a great authority. Professor Ridgeway brings historic proof that the Tarpan, who is the Prejevalski, the wild Dun of Asia, inhabited the green pasture of Europe, that he was a small scrawny and foul-tempered person unfit to ride, and that his crossings with the slender imported Bay produced our gigantic sturdy and gentle draught horse. I have ridden so many Duns, packed so many, loved them so much, that I am sure they would agree with me in bucking hard against Professor Ridgeway. I do not believe that the Dun wore his tawny colour in green pastures where he would be a target. I do not believe that the wild Dun in an average district was small, scrawny or vicious. I do not believe that a horse of the Dun type could be an ancestor to draught stock. History is the lens through which we see the past—out of focus.

Against the evidence of history and the proofs of science, I have nothing to offer except the common heritage of sight and reason, with that experience which trains a fellow to interpret landscape and to care for horses. I cannot expect others to ride as I have through the green pasturage of Cloudland seeing as I do under the combed, trim countryside of to-day the fierce rough wilderness of prehistoric times and of outlandish frontiers. It is not by asking the way or reading sign-posts that one reasons out the route of a day's journey, but by a vivid sense of light, form, colour and atmospheric distance, the old familiar structure of the rocks, the slopes of drainage, the course of running waters, the shape of woods and trees as fashioned by the wind, the ancient dangers deflecting trails and roads, and the phenomena which result in forts and churches, villages and towns.

Sensing the country

So one senses the radiant perfumed land and sees how it shaped and coloured its native horses. It was from that raw material the breeder wrought just as a sculptor models clay into his statuary. Under his hands the wild traits disappeared, the short-sighted pony grew into a long-sighted hunter, sound hoofs and limbs were softened to unsoundness, the language of signs gave place to understanding of human speech, while discipline of the harem and the herd became obedience in the fields of sport, of labour, or soldier service.

The dapple sign

I would not have my reading take the place of thinking, but rather use books to inspire thought and be thankful to them for correcting blunders. Thus, aiming at the truth, no matter what I hit, I see in Western Europe a horse-currency which is of striped extraction, and, like a coinage in bronze, silver and gold, has evolved its moorland ponies, its lowland draught stock, and its upland running breeds. The measure of Bay blood stamps out its values; and, where one can decipher a device, it is to read the dapple sign for one of the sun's own kingdoms.

It has been my good fortune to ride from the edge of the Canadian forest along the general line of the Rocky Mountains to a place just twenty miles south of Zacatecas in Mexico, which is the southern boundary of the Stock Range, on the Tropic of Cancer. I have also ridden from Regina in Saskatchewan to Red Bluff in California. These two routes cross the grass from north to south, and nearly from east to west, making a rough total of seven thousand miles.

The wilderness

The land as I knew it first had just been stripped naked by the hunters who swept away almost the whole of its native stock of bison, deer, and antelope, wild sheep and goats, together with the hunting animals, such as wolves and panthers who earned a living there. The land as I saw it next was overstocked with ponies, cattle and sheep, so that the grass was poor. The land as I saw it last was being fenced, watered and ploughed by pioneer settlers. In thirty years I witnessed the passing of the wilderness and its frontiersmen.

A meadow gives a totally false idea of the herbage which built up the strength and vigour of the ancient pony herds. It is a mixture of many grasses and other plants all closely turfed together so that a horse cannot readily select what he likes best. The grass contains a deal of water, stays green throughout the year and tastes sour between the teeth. One finds turfed pasture in forests and their outskirts, and usually where there is rainfall enough for crops, as in Western Europe and on the eastern half of South Africa. That, I think, is not the pasture which made the hardy range horse.

The natural pastures

Where there is less than eight inches of rain one finds the range grass, of separate plants with the bare earth between. The three American kinds are the bunch grass of the hollows, a tall tussock with tap roots reaching down to moisture; the little buffalo grass from two to four inches high; and the gramma grass of the same size which inhabits Mexico.

One may presume that the tussock fed the oldest herds and that, as it failed, the pony took to eating the shorter grasses.

The horse in a meadow pasture does not eat the ranker growths, but grazes the shorter, smaller kinds of grass. From this we may reason that the little buffalo grass of the ranges is the typical food of the species. The leaves of this plant are green in the spring but soon cure to a golden tawny colour, which changes to brown in the autumn, and a washed-out, greyish brown in winter. As they cure, the leaves curl downwards one by one until the plant becomes a ball or tuft exceedingly springy underfoot, sweet as a nut in taste, and equal in food value to standing oats.

Conditions of the stockrange

As one approaches the desert the land is sprinkled with bushes which protect themselves from being eaten with a very strong nasty taste, or deadly thorns. Of these the sage brush comes first, a thousand miles wide followed by a thousand miles of greasewood and acacia varied with forests of cacti. The grass becomes more scanty as one forces a way onward into the heart of the desert, where there are regions of naked rock and belts of drifting sand.

As the annual rainfall varies from year to year the desert tracts expand or shrink by turns. As the winds swing from side to side, or wax or wane in their supply of moisture, a fertile region is made desolate for a few centuries as Palmyra, or a desert shrinks before the spreading pasture. In cycles the desert blossoms or withers, but with the millions of years it slowly widens.

Such, then, were the conditions of the stockrange to which the ancient herds had to adapt themselves, learning to dispense with the shrunken meadows, and make the most of varying crops of bunch grass.

The taste for green pasture is so far forgotten that range horses will swim rivers and break fences to escape from the richest of meadows and get to the desert hillsides which seem to grow nothing but stones. Where sheep tear the bunch grass out by the roots and leave stark desert, the horses' lips and teeth are so delicately adapted to this feeding that they never uproot the plant.

The grazing rules

It is a sound rule that range ponies do not travel beyond their necessities of grass and water. Leaving the water, they graze outwards, forming a trampled area which widens daily as they feed at the edges. So, riding across the rich and untouched grass lands of the south-western deserts, I have come to a line where the pasturage ended abruptly, and beyond were innumerable pony tracks leading from six to ten miles to a water hole. The wild horse looked upon that ring area as the tame horse does a stable, with water and feed conveniently arranged. That was his home, and if man or the storm, or wolves drove him a couple of hundred miles away to better feed and water, he would always break back at the first chance, travelling steadily with little delay for grazing.

A horse's neck is exactly long enough for grazing on level ground, but I never saw one try to graze downhill. Neither does he readily graze directly up any steep place, preferring to quarter along the hillside, rising very slightly.

Rules in grazing

His first rule in grazing then is to crop uphill.

But the moment the air stirs he applies his second grazing rule, which is "feed up wind."

If he had the man's way of reasoning, he would argue thus, "If I graze down wind I smell myself, the grass, and the dust. But if I graze up wind I get the air clean to my nostrils, and can smell an enemy in time to fight or run."

His third rule is to graze if possible homeward or towards shelter.

If the grass is plentiful he feeds quickly, and has time for rest on warm sheltered ground or in the lee of timber. If food is scant, he gets no time for rest.

On the natural range there are hollows to which the surface waters have carried the ashes of burned grass. These alkali licks are needed to keep horses in health; but rock salt in the stable seems to meet their wants. Failing that they will lick brick walls. Even the licking of a man's hand is a means of getting salt from the skin rather than making love.

II. BETWEEN GRASS AND WATER.

The best way to measure the distance and the sort of ground which the ancient herds were accustomed to traverse between grass and water, is to study the conduct of a horse in dealing with steep places.

Horses on cliffs

I was dining with some friends at Gibraltar when the story was told of long ago times when a couple of mad midshipmen rode ponies for a wager up the Mediterranean stairs. This is a stone stairway up the eastern wall of the Rock which is sheer and some thirteen hundred feet high. The story had special interest for me because my father was one of the two mad middies. He had told me that the ponies were not frightened, except at the last flight of all when the Atlantic wind was blowing into their faces over the summit. There a step was missing, the ponies reared, and both lads had to dismount, losing a wager for which the leader had undertaken the ride.

The ponies were Spanish, of the type which re-stocked North America.

I frightened an English horse into hysterics with such small rock walls as I could find in Wales, but have never known an American range animal to show very much alarm. My worst climb was made in twelve hours, with three horses up a 3,600 foot cliff where a trail would have been a convenience. The pack and spare horses pulled hard at times because, although ambitious animals, they would have preferred some other way to heaven. That is why the lead rope got under the saddle-horse's tail, which made him buck on a ledge overhanging blue space where there really was no room. A little later the led horses pulled my saddle horse over the edge of a crag. I got off at the top, and the horse lit on his belly across a jutting rock about twelve feet down. He thought he was done for until I persuaded him with the lead rope to scramble up again. Near the summit the oak and juniper bushes forced me to dismount, leading the horses one at a time under or round stiff overhanging branches on most unpleasant ground. They showed off a little because they wished to impress me, but I found out afterwards that horses or even cattle, held at the foot of that cliff until they are hungry, will climb to the top for grass. The place is known as The Gateway and leads up out of the Cañon Dolores in Colorado to the Mesa la Sal in Utah.

Much more dangerous was a 4,000 foot grass slope down from the Mesa Uncompaghre into the Cañon Unaweep. I managed that by leading the horses and quartering the slope in zigzags. I was much more frightened than they were.

Bad ground

Many times I have ridden along the rim rock of cliffs of any height up to a mile sheer, and so far from being afraid, I found some horses preferred the very edge. One may ride slack rein where one would never dare to venture afoot.

But although range horses like cliffs, they are poor climbers. One may ride them up any place where a man can climb without using his hands, but they will never face a step above knee high. Sometimes I have been obliged to pass my rope round a tree and pull my horse down walls that he dared not jump. Even then he would argue the point.

Horse sense

American railway bridges have no pathway, and when one leads a horse, stepping from tie to tie, he thinks he has five legs. With two legs down, and a train expected or a bear sauntering ahead, he looks so damned patient that one begins to realise an obscure trait in his character which needs explaining. It is easier to take him across bridges than to ride or lead him through a waterfall. He prefers a waterfall to a corduroy-timbered swamp road when it happens to be flooded and afloat. I have tried him with quicksands and moss holes and glare ice on the mountain tops. Because I cannot swim I have stayed in the saddle swimming lakes, rapids, and rivers which run sand. Still worse are beaver swamps under a tangle of deadfall timber, and old avalanches. All these and sundry other kinds of evil ground a horse accepts as fate so long as he trusts his man. It is not his business. It is the man's affair. One begins to think that, like a savage, he lacks continuous purpose of his own and is merely the meek victim of his destiny. And that is exactly where the man is fooled. When a horse really wants grass, water, or to get home, he rivals the white man in sustained purpose, and does his own job with an intelligence and courage which he never gives to that of his employer. In other words, the difficulties of travel between grass and water gave to the ancient ponies the highest possible qualities of endurance, valour and skill. These qualities are latent in every horse.

There is a more important lesson to be learned by practical study of wild range.

The range has two types of herbage, the bunch grass and the thorned or aromatic bushes. The bunch grass is the staple food, the bushes a reserve in time of drought. The use of the reserve food has taught the horse to adapt his stomach to a change of diet.

The trail to water

Compared with farm land the range has very little food to the acre, supports only a small population of grazing beasts, and, in its distances between food and water, has trained the horse to a deal of exercise as well as to endurance of thirst. On the other hand the needs of travelling for water and of grazing have reduced his time for sleep to about three and a half hours per day, which he takes standing, however weary, unless he is quite confident as to safety and kind treatment. In brutally managed stables horses are apt to sleep standing, because they are not off guard.

At first glance, too, the water on level range, however distant from the edge of grass may be safely visited. Yet as one approaches the stream by slopes of the usual coulee, densely bushed with poplar and wild fruit trees; or, coming down open grass, enters a grove of cottonwood along the level bottom, one begins to note that the horses appear to be nervous. A bunch of loose ponies will let the wisest mare scout ahead while they string out in single file to follow all alert, picking their way most delicately, pointing their ears at all sorts of smells and sounds, and glancing backward often as they go. Again one watches tame horses watering at a trough, always alert, on guard. If one of them makes a sudden movement the rest will at once shy backward. Some horse are so nervous that they have to be watered singly. Always a horse drinks while he can hold his breath, lifts his nostrils to breathe deep and fill his lungs, then takes a second drink, perhaps a third, and turns away abruptly. There is no lingering at the waterside. At the bank of lake or river no range horse goes deeper then he need, or offers to take a bath.

Race-memories of peril

Here are race-memories of mortal peril from a daily watering in face of instant danger and of sudden death. I have seen so many horses piteously drowned in moss or mudholes that I understand why they tread cautiously as they approach wet ground. The bush beside the water is apt to be full of snakes who come down as horses do, to drink in the gloaming, and are not easily seen. The bush beside the water is the lurking place of every beast of prey, and everybody knows how horses go stark mad at the smell of bear. What chance had the ponies, strung out on a bush trail, against grey timber wolves? What thoroughbred fighting horse would ever have a chance against the Siberian tiger, or the African lion? Cougar, puma, jaguar, leopard—the cats of all the world with their sudden spring at the withers or throat of a range pony, have taught his descendants their art of self-defence. That we must deal with later.

III. THE FAMILY.

We have broken up the family life of our horses, and are apt to forget that they ever had private affairs of their own.

The harem

Twice on the range I have met horse families. On the first occasion the family happened to be grazing near the trail as I passed. The stallion was furious at my intrusion, trotted up to me and stood glaring, pawing the ground, his great neck arched and splendid mane and tail rippling astream in the high wind. My saddle and pack beasts, a pair of gentle geldings, were rather frightened, disposed to halt, even to run away but for my voice keeping them to their duty. The stallion's mares had stopped grazing to admire their master, each with an observant eye cocked at me and an expression of smugness not to be beaten in any Bigotarian chapel. Then, as I laughed, the stallion, with a loud snort of contempt, swung round, lashed dirt in my face for defiance, and trotted off to round up his harem and drive them out of reach lest my evil communications should corrupt their morals.

On the second occasion I took a half-broken pack-train into a pasture on the bench of a cañon, so that the spring grass might cure an epidemic of strangles which had killed seven and sorely weakened the rest. The pasture belonged to a wild stallion who lived there with his family of young mares, colts and foals. He stole my twenty-five mares, added them to his harem, and made off. I was obliged to build a corrall, round up the whole bunch, cut out my mares, and drive the harem out of the district. Meanwhile my stock had lapsed from civilised ways and become wild beasts who had to be broken all over again before it was possible to use them for pack-train work.

They say that a horse family depends in size upon the powers of the strongest stallion, who rises to command by fighting and defeating all competitors, and holds his command by single combat with the leaders of rival families who try to rob him.

The commanding stallion

The commandant stallion is able to hold a family of fifteen to fifty head, but there must be some who by conquest of rival leaders, and stealing of their harems, rise to commands on a much larger scale. Ranging his family between grass and water, he is most particular to close herd his mares, to hold his own pasture which he never leaves except under dire stress, and to have special places where he casts his droppings. In range life the geldings have separate families, and their own private runs.

There is not very much known about the internal arrangements of wild harems, but a good deal can be guessed from watching the Red Indian's pony herd, the Cow outfit's bunch of remounts, the Mexican remuda, the Argentine tropilla, the stock of a horse ranch, or even a herd camp of Mounted Police, all units of horses living more or less the wild life of the range. From these it is known that a feral pony herd keeps a certain military formation while grazing, with the weaker animals ringed by the stronger, and a few vedettes and flankers thrown out to watch for danger. At the assault of a wolf pack the formation closes, the fighting horses and mares making an outer ring, close-set and facing outwards. When a wolf comes within range, the nearest horse swings round and lashes out with the hind feet to kill. As American wolves only pack in winters of famine this event is rare, but in one case an Indian boy who was herder to a Blackfoot tribal camp, was, with his mount, placed by the fighting herd at their centre for his defence, and was able to watch the whole battle until his people came out to the rescue.

In breeding and fighting the Commandant stallion is sole authority, but it has been noticed that some wise old mare usually decides the time for moving and leads the marches.

It is said that a foal is able to keep with the travelling herd from the day of birth. It is said that the foal will outlast a hard day's journey—and dies afterwards. To what extent this may be true I have no means of knowing, but I believe that the leggy foal does keep up with a moving herd. It is one more bit of evidence as to the desperate emergencies of drought or storm survived by the ancient herds.

IV. SELF-DEFENCE.

Self-defence

There is a general belief among horse that man is vicious. If he were a little more intelligent we could explain to the horse that appearances are deceptive, and that we are not really vicious when we throw things at each other such as shells, torpedoes and bombs, or lay mines to blow each other to pieces on land or sea. As it is, he bases his belief that we are vicious upon our methods of dealing with him, in the use for example, of bearing reins, of branding irons, and instruments which dock tails.

My own impression, after many years of experience with both, is that man, and especially civilised man, is much more ferocious than the horse. May I venture then to quote the wisdom of a gentle Bengali Baboo who wrote an essay as follows:

"The horse is a highly intelligent animal, and, if you treat him kindly, he will not do so."

The discovery was made in Arabia, also in Kentucky, in Ireland and elsewhere, that if a foal is handled as a pet, and so brought up that he remembers nothing but kindness and constant care at the hands of men, it never occurs to him that he needs to defend himself from his master as from an enemy. He never develops the arts of self-defence. As a colt he learns that to get at his feed he must jump over a stick on the ground. As he grows the stick is raised inch by inch until jumping over it becomes a part of his accomplishments in which he takes a natural pride and delight. So with the rest of his education. Horses can learn a great deal of the language we speak, to enjoy music, to select colours, to add up figures, to take a vivid interest in sport, to share with us the terror and glory of battle. They will set us an example in faithfulness, in self-sacrifice, and every finer trait of character.

But if we teach a young horse nothing but distrust, making fear and hatred the main traits of his character, it is the last outrage upon common sense to call his honest methods of self-defence by such a name as vice. We have the power to raise up angels or devils, but if we breed a horse to be a devil, we cannot expect the poor beast to behave himself like an angel.

Varieties of character

Horses vary in character almost as much as we do, and there are with them as with us a small proportion of born criminals whose warped or stunted brains cannot be trained aright by any means we know. What we do not and can never understand is the mysterious power of saints who charm wild men and beasts to tameness, and of certain horsemen to whom the worst outlaws are perfectly obedient.

Among ourselves there are certain dreams such as the falling dream, the flying dream, and that of being eaten by wild beasts, which are supposed to be race-memories dating from the time when man was a forest animal like an ape, before the immortal Spirit entered into his body.

Among horses there are race-memories dating from ancient times in the wilderness when the pony was driven to self-defence on pain of a violent death. These race memories take the form of habits, and explain the various methods by which the horse defends himself from human enemies.

Pawing, for example, is the subject of many theories. Not that the habit really needs explanation, because we fidget ourselves when we have nothing better to do. Yet when a horse paws the water at any drinking place, the learned are apt to say he does it to clear away the mud. I doubt if any horse is such a fool. Other observers note that the action is really stamping, a motion of race-memory dating from the time when thin ice had to be tested to see if a frozen river could be safely crossed. That sounds most reasonable, until one wonders dimly how it accounts for either pawing or stamping on dry ground.

Race memories

If then the fidgets must be explained by any theory of race memory, one would suppose that the gestures used in killing snakes or in scraping through snow to get grass might very well have come down through the ages. I think though that if I had four hoofs and an irritable temper, I might be allowed to indulge in cow-kicking or striking without my symptoms being used as a pretext for abusing my dead ancestors.

We have seen that the old range harem adopted military formations, and went into action well organized for defence against wolves. They kicked, but any range cow, addressed on the subject of milking, without hereditary training as a kicker, can give points to the average horse. Yet where the cow is merely obstinate the horse is reasonable.

Horse mastership

He is marvellously swift as a critic of the horseman, ready to kick the same abundantly at the slightest sign of ineptitude or nerves, or to render a cheery obedience to one who understands. The man who walks nervously through a stable making abrupt movements to avoid possible heels is sure to be criticised with contusions by any horse with a decent sense of humour. Yet if one understands the signs of thrown-back ears and balancing in readiness for the kick, one has only to tell the animal not to play the fool, then watch his shamefaced grin at being found out. It is so easy to charm the most irritable horse with a little hay while one is busy with him in the stall. He cannot, like a man, think of two things at once, and in military stables, horse-masters who have their grooming done while the horses feed will find that even dangerous kickers become gentle. That is of course contrary to much theory and more army practice; yet it is not forbidden, and being easily tested is well worth trying before it is condemned.

Kicking

Having nearly cured my horses of kicking, I am still extremely anxious to persuade young horsemen to get as close as possible to a horse while grooming him, so that no kicker has room to deliver the full force of the blow, which may be fatal. Horses are very careless among themselves, kicking each other for fun while they forget that the iron shoe may break a leg. I have noticed also that a horse who deliberately gets himself disliked will very soon be the victim of organized attack, a comrade being told off by the rest to lay for him. In this way during the last six months I have been obliged to have four horses shot for fractured legs.

Horses in pasture will often stand in pairs, head to tail abreast, so that each with his whisk of tail can keep flies from the other's face. One will nibble and lick along the other's neck and withers out of kindness, adding a bite or two for fun. So in the stable, horses bite one another for fun, but if they apply the treatment to a man it is a sure sign they are badly educated, and liable to get their noses smacked for their pains.

Faults and remedies

PIG-JUMPING is the plunging action which civilised horses suppose to be genuine bucking. It is not so much self-defence as an expression of joy.

KANGAROO-JUMPING is unusual, but must be great sport for a horse who knows the trick. It never fails to astonish.

REARING. To cure a rearing horse, throw him on his near side. When ready to throw, draw the rein taut, the off rein tightest; then as he rears, keep the left toe in the near stirrup, but get the right free of the off stirrup with the knee on the horse's rump, for a purchase as you throw your body suddenly to the left. The Horse loses his balance and crashes to the ground while you step clear. As you do so draw the taut off rein back and low to the pommel. So you will raise the head and prevent horse from rising.

Never strike a horse on the head for rearing.

BOLTING AND STAMPEDES. Horses were trained by wolves and other dangers of the range to run at the warning neigh of their stallion commanding. Sudden and blind panic is a trait innate in the horse character, and the best preventive is the human voice. Singing hymns or any familiar songs in chorus is the very best way of preventing a stampede; but, judging by my own voice, is rather apt to panic any horse who has a good ear for music.

Balking

BALKING. There is a story of a New England farm horse drawing a load of hay, whose master had no influence with him. After trying for an hour to persuade the animal to move, he made a bonfire under its belly. When the flames caused him discomfort, the horse moved on—eight feet, exactly enough to bring the bonfire underneath the hay.

Tap quickly with a whip behind his knees, hitting them alternately. He will mark time then walk to get away from the whip. I heard lately of a stranger who walked up to a balking horse, rolled a cigarette paper and placed it carefully in the animal's ear, then led him unresisting along the road. Mr. Horse was wondering, 'Why the deuce did he put that thing in my ear?' He forgot to balk. No horse can think of two things at the same time.

BALKING AT A GALLOP. Whereas refusing to start is evidence of a misguided past, the sudden refusal to take a jump may indicate that the horse lacks confidence in his rider, or that the reins are very badly handled, giving him no chance of taking off with head free.

To balk at a gallop means throwing the body back and bearing against the ground with all four feet, head down.

PROPPING. This is balking at a gallop and taking a series of springs in that position, each with a rigid crash on all four legs. The rider has a tendency to continue his journey alone. Propping is much favoured by range horses.

This completes the list of defensive measures remembered by civilised horses.

Little ways

TREADING. They have also invented a few methods of expressing their feelings. When a horse presses his hand on my foot, and adds to the tenderness of the greeting by waving his other hand, I know he means to impress me, although I may not have leisure at the moment to hear what he has to say.

TAKING IN THE SLACK. When a horse takes the seat of my breeches firmly between his teeth as I try to mount, he may not wish me to ride, or possibly he wishes to criticise the English riding costume. Breeches with puffed sleeves are perhaps an acquired taste.

CROWDING. A horse may corner or crowd me when I try to leave the stall after feeding him, and if he hugged me he could do no more to express his pleasure. But if he will not let me re-enter his stall while he feeds, I suspect some groom has been stealing his oats from the manger.

JOGGLING. Soldier horses on the march are obliged to keep the pace set by the leading file. If that pace is beyond their walk, they keep up by joggling. To break a joggling horse to a walk, stand in the stirrups, place the free hand on his neck, and bear with the whole weight of your body.

To return now to defensive methods.

BUCKING. To lower the head, and spring into the air, humping the back, drawing the feet close together, and coming down on all four rigid, for the next spring. Repeat. It is useful when starting a spring with the head north to twist in the air and come down facing south; or to make the series of jumps in a narrow circle and then bolt at a tangent; or to buck on the run, dislodging the rider first, then the saddle which can be kicked to pieces. If the rider is dragged his brains can be kicked out.

SUNFISHING. To buck, coming down on both hind feet and one fore, while doubling up the other free limb. This brings one shoulder to the ground, and to sunfish is to drop alternate shoulders. Very few horses know this exercise.

SCRAPING. To run or buck under low branches or against trees or walls. Some civilised horses know this.

BACKFALLS. These may be used to add to the general effect of either rearing or bucking. I once bought a black mare seven years old, snared in the forest, who had probably never seen a man. When ridden she bucked, and while bucking threw herself seven times on her back, three falls being over a cut bank on to a rocky river bed. Towards evening she cricked her neck, and showed blood at the nostrils, making an awful picture of despair. During the night she slipped a foal, of which there had been no sign. Before dawn she died—a case of broken heart. The horse breaker, an English gentleman, stayed with her throughout, and was not hurt.

Acts of passion

So far we have dealt with acts of hot-blooded passion, culminating in suicidal rage. The fiercest buckers, having dislodged the rider, will turn at once to grazing and wait with cheerful defiance for the next bout. Almost all horses are sportsmen and there is nothing that they dread more, or are so careful to avoid as treading upon a disabled man. Even in cavalry charges a man down has only to lie still so that the horses can see exactly where he is, and they will all leap clear. They dread placing a foot on anything which might collapse or roll, and so cause a dangerous fall.

Man killing

There remain extreme cases in which horses are guilty of deliberate, planned murder.

SAVAGING is practised by civilised as well as by range horses. It is a sudden, and often unprovoked, wide-eyed staring rush with teeth bared, an attempt either to inflict a dangerous bite or to get a man down and trample him to death.

HOLDING WIND. The only case I know of was that of a fine buckskin gelding for whom I paid a rifle, a suit of clothes and ten dollars in trade with an Indian. It seemed impossible to get the girth properly tight until, after three days, I concluded that my suspicion of his holding wind was merely foolishness. All the same I used to regirth a mile or two out on each march. I had regirthed at the top of a mountain pass, and was mounting, when he suddenly let out all his wind and bolted over rock heaps. The saddle came down with me on the off side, I was dragged, and afterwards woke up to find myself maimed for life. Then we had a fight, which he won. It turned out afterwards that holding wind until he could catch out and kill his rider was an old accomplishment for which the horse was famous. This is the only case I have known of unprovoked, carefully planned, and deliberate crime, as distinguished from self-defence.

Vices are human qualities. The worst possible vices with regard to a horse are,

To show fear.

Meanness or neglect in fending for him.

Cruelty or ill-temper.

V. THE SPIRIT OF THE HORSE.

Spirit of the horse

The young of the church and of the universities who know all about everything, and attach a deal of importance to their funny little opinions, are quite agreed that the lower animal is an "it" as automatic as a slot machine. Put in a penny and the machine utters a box of matches. Put in food and the animal develops energy. So much is perfectly true of animals and men, for our bodies are automatic.

Moreover, the animal has "instincts" which impel "it" to beget a foal or a litter of puppies. Humans, with the same instincts are impelled to beget a bumptious young bacteriologist, or a pair of curates.

In a like way the wolf, the Christian, or the tiger mates with one wife, while the horse and the Moslem both prefer a harem.

Shall we say, then, that the wolf is the more religious, or the horse not quite so respectable?

The horse spiritual

A certain Sergeant Parker, of the Northwest Mounted Police, went on patrol with a saddle horse. They got lost in a blizzard, and in the succeeding calm the man became snowblind. On the seventh day, the horse saw an outfit of freighters passing in the distance. He ran to their sleighs. He whinneyed to the horses, who understood his talk, and he beckoned to the men, who were not so clever. Then the men noticed that his belly was terribly swollen by long pressure of the girth. They followed him. At a distance of one and a half miles they came to a tract of prairie with the snow grubbed up where the horse had been scratching for grass. In the midst was a heap of snow like the mound of a grave, on which lay Sergeant Parker in seeming death. His long delirium, beginning with visions of angels and closing with a dream of meat-pies, had ended in coma just at the verge of death; while the horse stayed on guard until it was possible to get him rescued. So much was told me afterwards by the man.

The other day in France a British soldier was killed, whose horse remained with the body for two days, out in the zone between the opposing armies, exposed to a hurricane of fire beyond example, refusing to be rescued, moved by a love stronger than death.

The horse immortal

The young of the clergy will tell us all about the lower animal who does not subscribe to the tenets of the church, and so must perish everlastingly despite the Father's care. Yet if they read the Prophets and the Revelations they will find chariots of fire, and see in visions the deathless chargers ridden by Archangels. Are all the Hosts of Heaven infantry? We have the full authority of the Holy Bible for an idea that horses may be immortal.

But then the young of science have assured us that the clergy talk a deal of nonsense, and that the Holy Scriptures are so much folk lore. Our modern teachers, unused to sleeping outdoors, have never seen the great heavens thrown open every night. They believe in nothing they have not seen, and those I meet have not seen very much. To them the lower animal is hardly a personal friend, but rather an automaton steered by instincts, built on much the same principles as a dirigible torpedo. The "instincts" have to account for deeds which in a man would be attributed to love or valour.

I often meet young people who gently wave aside my life experience while they crush me with some religious or scientific tenet to which they attach importance. Sometimes this bias has caused total blindness, more often they lack sympathy; but any horse can teach fellows who have eyes to see with, and hearts to understand. Then they will realise in him a personality like that of a human child.

I do believe that there are men and horses in whom the spirit burns with so mighty and secure a strength that it cannot be quenched by death; and that there are others in whom the flame burns low or has been blown out.

The horse psychic

Everybody has acquaintances who possess a certain sense, not yet quite understood, which enables them to read unspoken thoughts; to see events in the past, the distance, or the future as happening to their friends; or to be conscious of certain states of the atmosphere produced by strong human emotions; or to see or hear phenomena which some folk attribute to discarnate spirits. Such people are called psychic, and, if they use their powers as a means of earning money, they are defined as frauds. As a blind man does not deny the existence of eyesight, so, if I am not psychic myself, I have no call to decry the honest people who possess this gift. I have heard stories told in all good faith of dogs and horses showing uneasiness and alarm at apparitions which men failed to see, of so-called "ghosts," for example, in places which had been the scene of a violent death. Without careful investigation one can scarcely treat such tales as evidence; but it is quite possible that some horses, like some women, are strongly psychic.

Sense of humour

That horses have a crude sense of humour is known to every horseman. To rip the cap off a groom's head and drop it in the water is the sort of joke which appeals to a horse or a little boy. Once I was standing beside a friend who sat in a dog-trap, and each of us enjoyed a glass of beer while we passed the time of day. Just for fun the pony drank half my beer, but when I brought him a bowl of the same, pretended to be an abstainer. That pony would visit his master's dining-room of a morning to remove the covers and inspect the dishes for breakfast.

Another friend of mine once had a horse named Kruger, black roan with a white star on each flank. It had been his life's ambition to be a skewbald, and disappointment had lopped both ears over a glass eye, so that he looked like the very Devil. A greyhound body, long legs and a mincing gait completed his unusual list of beauties. Some fourteen years after my friend had sold out and left that country, accident brought me to Fire Valley, British Columbia, and dire need of a new pack animal constrained me to buy the horse. Perhaps for political reasons, or to evade the police, by this time old Kruger had changed his name to Spot. Frightened of him at first, my partner and I discovered his great talents as a pack-horse. Besides that, he was brave, loyal, and gentle, and above all things humorous. A rough passage of mountains brought us to settlement, where men would laugh at Spot, but horses never dared. One had only to say "Sick 'em!" as to a dog, and Spot would round up all the horses in sight and chase them. His face was that of a fiend save for a glint of fun in the one eye he had for business. For about fourteen hundred miles he spread terror before him, stampeding bunches of loose horses but always coming back with a grin, as though he said, "Now, ain't I the very Devil?"

The horse comrade

In the North-west Mounted Police, a detachment of us used to ride down bareback with led horses to water at the ford of Battle River. Close by was a wire cable for the ferry. On one occasion, my horse as he left the water turned under the cable to scrape me off his back. Failing in that, he returned higher up the bank, and this time I was scraped off into a pool of dust. Out of that brown explosion of dust, I looked up in time to see his malicious pleasure in a successful joke.

And so one might set forth instances by the score, all to the same monotonous effect, that humans and horses have a sense of humour.

Limitations and tricks

Please imagine a man to have his hands and feet replaced by boxes of horn such as the hoofs of a horse, and that, so disabled, he is tied by the head in a cell. Reduced to the conditions of horse-life in a stable, the man would be as clever as a horse in the use of lips and teeth. He would slip his headstall or break his head-rope, open the door and escape until such time as the need for food and water drove him back to prison. When asked to go to work, he might give a clever impersonation of a lame horse. He might also copy the trick of the beggar horse who gives the love call to every man who enters the stable, fooling each of them with the flattery of special homage, a sure way to gifts of sugar, apples or carrots. Or he might copy the horse who whiles away dull times by keeping a pet cat, or bird, or puppy. It seems odd, too, that the most dangerous human outlaws and man-slaying horses are gentle with small animals and children. So long as we punish unoffending horses with imprisonment in dark cells, we may expect them to show traits of character evolved by the treatment of prisoners in the Middle Ages.

Horses, dogs, and men are oddly alike, too, in the way they dream, with twitchings of the limbs to illustrate great exertion, and snortings, murmurs and groans, which take the place of speech.

So horses just like humans are dour or cheery, truculent or cheeky, humorous or stolid, some with a lofty sense of dignity, while others behave like clowns. Some horses are like some children, exacting until they are petted, while other children and horses hate to be pawed. Both will sulk or quarrel, play the fool or grumble, make intimate friendships or bitter enemies. I think, though, that the love of sport, and the desire to excel are much more general with horses than with children.

The horse musical

In a military camp I asked some women to tea, and turned loose a few Beethoven records on the gramaphone. At the first tune all the horses in pasture assembled at the fence, stood to attention while the music lasted, and when it was over scattered off to grass. They certainly love music. At the same camp, by some mysterious means they got wind of the fact that twenty of them were to be sent away. Until the detachment actually marched off, their conduct, for twenty-four hours on end, was sulky and mutinous. Afterwards both groups immediately mended their manners.

Signals

Everybody who lives with horses learns that they exchange confidences, arrange for concerted action and try to tell us their troubles. Nobody knows how they talk, few of us can tell what they are talking about, but so far as the evidence goes they seem to express their feelings rather than their thoughts. Here then are a few of their signals:

(1) When a horse throws his ears to point forward and down, and he makes a short, sharp snort it means "Wheugh! Look at that now!" If he throws himself back on his haunches while he points and snorts, it means: "Oh, Hell!" If he points, snorts and shies a few yards sideways in the air, he is playing at being in a terrible fright. It means: "Bears!" He is not really frightened, for when he is tired out he will pass a railway engine blowing off steam without taking the slightest notice.

(2) One ear lopped forward and the other back, head sideways, gait sidelong, may be defined in the words of a learned Hindu: "Sir, the horse with which your Honour entrusted me has been behaving in a highly obstreperous and devil-may-care manner."

Horse speech

(3) The love call is a little whinney, soft, sweet and low.

(4) The demand for food is a rumbling neigh.

(5) A cheery neigh greeting other horses in passing means: "How d'ye do!"

(6) A loud trumpet peal of neighing at short intervals is a demand, sometimes a piteous appeal to other horses to join company.

(7) The groan of great pain is the same as that of a man, and may be attended by crying, when tears run from the nostrils. The sound is heart-rending, beyond endurance.

(8) The scream is only uttered in sudden and mortal agony as from burning, or from some kinds of wounds received in battle.

Signs and protests

(9) Ears thrown back even ever so slightly express anger, but thrown back along the neck mean fighting rage. In wild life the fights between stallions are mainly with the teeth, and horses forced to fight as a sport for men, as in ancient Iceland, rear up against one another, striking as well as biting. The ears are thrown back to save them from being bitten.

(10) Rage and pretended anger are expressed by a sudden squeal, the signal of attack.

(11) Gestures of pain.

Stamping is merely impatience.

Pawing may be due to colic. If also the animal sweats and keeps looking at his flank, there is certainly pain in the abdomen.

Pointing with a forefoot. When standing, a horse rests his hind legs by changing weight from one to the other at intervals of a minute. As he has no mechanism to do this with the fore limbs, he expresses pain in one of them by pointing the foot forward. He rests better facing down a slope then facing up as in a stable, and when in pain may be relieved by tying to the stanchion instead of to the manger.

Dragging the fore foot means injury to the shoulder.

Head out, chin up, feet apart, and sweating, mean that the chap is choking.

Head down and tail tucked in, mean misery or sickness.

(12) Gestures of joy.

Bright eyes, a glossy coat, head carried proudly, and tail high, dry nostrils, hard droppings, free movement, and a willing gait are signs most eloquent of health. To pass the time of day with other horses, shy at the clouds, paw the moon, and dance, with pig jumping or even a little bucking after breakfast, are signals of youth, joy and good fellowship.

Then one may watch the play of the nostrils making a thousand comments on scents borne in the air, while the ears will point and quiver to all sorts of sounds beyond man's hearing. The mood will change from sober thoughtfulness in the shadow of clouds or trees, to sheer intoxication of delight with sparkling frost, dew on the flowers, sunshine in the skies. No creature on earth expresses feeling with sweeter quickness than a happy horse.

(13) Nuzzling is sometimes an appeal for help, more often an expression of loving sympathy.

Thought transference

(14) Nothing so far explains how a couple of horses will put their heads together, touch nostrils, and in a second come to some sort of mutual understanding, which leads to immediate concerted action such as the bolting of a team. In one or two cases I am not sure that the nostrils actually touched. In many cases when I saw nostrils rubbed together or the beard bristles in contact, no sound was made within the compass of my hearing. Neither were there such lip movements as would be made by speech, nor was there any self-conscious, found-out expression in the faces of conspirators caught plotting against the white men.

When I have been in company with some very dear friend, and one of us would answer out loud to an unspoken thought of the other, or both of us were moved to say the same thing in the like words, we called that thought-transference. When my horse came to me in camp, and standing behind caressed my neck or ear with his lips or nostril trying by thought-transference to tell me all about his pain or sorrow, he might get his face slapped before I realised exactly what he said. Only as I learned to welcome horses when they came to me, I seemed to sense their feelings. They converse among themselves by thought-transference, and try to speak that way to men they trust.

Thought transference

The barriers between horse and man are tremendous. Think what it is for a fastidious creature, with powers of scenting which can descry clean standing water at nearly five miles without wind, to come near a meat-eating creature like a man, powerfully and offensively scented. Suffering from nausea without obtaining the relief permitted to a man, the horse must overcome an intense dislike before he accepts our friendship. He senses our defects of cowardice, cruelty or selfishness, perhaps drunkenness, vices out-ranging his capacity for evil. He knows that we are physically small, slow, sometimes even lacking in muscular strength. Yet taking us all in good part, he submits his will to an intellectual force, grasp and speed which seem to him supernatural, and to an authority which he venerates as divine.

CHAPTER IV.

THE CONQUEST OF THE HORSE.

We have now some vague idea of the ancient horse; so it is well we should know what manner of man was the savage who caught and tamed him.

Living a great deal, and travelling much alone among savages I have been more or less tolerated; and the savage has told me what he thinks of the white man. He looks upon the scientist as an amateurish unpractical sort of person who cannot ride or cook. The missionary can be profitably humbugged. The tourist is a source of revenue but apt to be intrusive and ill-mannered. As to the cinema folk, one tribe of savages refused to play any more because they were defeated in every film. They were granted one massacre of the whites to cheer them up.

The savage

So the scientific men, the missionary, the cinema people and many others bring home impressions which would amuse the savage. Our people are so badly informed that they suppose the savage to be dirty, ferocious, immoral and uncouth as the Sydney larrakin, the cockney rough, the New York tough and other poor degenerates of our race. It is true that the Fuegans were dirty, but we should not speak ill of the dead. Some South Sea island tribes are cheerfully ferocious, and make much of the white man at table although he does taste salty. The Pathan, if one calls him a savage, takes a delight in immorality. But uncouth? The commonality of the English-speaking nations have a deliberate preference for ugly costume and decorations, foul speech is usual among men, vulgarity is a privilege of both sexes, and awkwardness of bearing is almost universal. Who are we to call the savage uncouth? Compared with a white man, the savage is a gentleman anyway and usually sets us an example in purity of speech, often in cleanliness, chastity, and good faith. He differs from the healthier types of white men in having slightly less energy and vitality, in lack of sustained purpose and in being never quite grown up. Except in Africa, our microbes and not our valour conquered him, and his failure to rival us in material progress was due to lack of material rather than want of brains. The ferocious savage of fiction could not have tamed the horse.

It is quite likely that men killed and ate ponies for ages before it occurred to our ancestors that the creatures would be a deal more useful alive. But how was Four-feet overtaken and killed by Two-feet? Science has nothing to say on that point. We are not told.

Science has discovered that in Western Europe there were various phases of culture which are called (1), the Eolithic, when men used natural stones for weapons, (2) the old Stone Age, when flints were flaked to make spear and arrow points, (3) and the new Stone Age, when stones for weapon heads were ground and polished, (4) the Bronze Age, (5) and the Iron Age. It is true that flaking flints for flint-lock guns continues in England in face of all theories of the Neolithic, because a flaked flint will make sparks, whereas a ground flint won't. It is also true that Europe is the only part of the world with flints for flaking. The general application of the theory is also a little difficult on the Western American range, where there are fine silicate stones; but, in defiance of the Neolithic culture, the savages persist in flaking them for spear and arrow points while they deliberately grind stones for club heads, axe heads, and mortars. Still worse, the debauched Eskimo grind and carve stone lamps, but in their heathen blindness use bone and ivory for the heads of harpoons and bird darts. The savages I have known belonged to the Old Bone Age.

The hunter

How then with his slow feet and poor weapons was the hunter to surprise the alert sentries of a pony herd, get within range before they fled like the wind, or drive a bone-tipped spear through the shaggy hair?

It seems to me that man, like other hunting animals, despairing of getting meat from a pony herd on the range, would lie in ambush near the watering places, and where the ponies had to string out on a narrow trail they were caught at a disadvantage. There spear and arrow could earn abundant meat. Outside the bush, too, the valley or cañon walls had caves and defensible places where a tribe could lodge within easy reach of game, water and fuel.

In the South-western desert of America I have seen hundreds of cave and cliff villages, some even occupied by surviving tribes whose methods of hunting and location and defence would correspond with those of the more primitive pony hunters of prehistoric France. It seems, too, that those hairy aborigines who split pony bones for marrow may possibly have known the daintiest dish of Red Indian cookery, Crow entrail, more politely known as Absaroka Sausage.

In savage tribes there is a rule that a man of the Smith sept may not marry among the Smiths, but seeks his bride among the Browns or Robinsons. But the septs are usually called after some animal, so that for Smith we may read Pony, for Brown we may read Eagle, for Robinson say Wolf. Moreover, the children play a game of two sides in which Master Wolf impersonates a wolf with cries and dances, and if the rival side laughs they pay forfeit. So Miss Pony plays at pony, and Master Eagle plays at being an Eagle. Out of this game perhaps comes a play of the grown-ups; in which I have seen a candidate for the secret society of the Healers impersonate his tribal Bear or Beaver before the Doctors of the order who admitted him to their circle. This play may be the origin of a mystic rite known as Calling the Game. For certain Doctors can wear a wolf skin, and give so beautiful an imitation of a wolf that all the deer and bison are deceived. His job is to excite their curiosity so that, as he draws slowly away, the herds will follow him. The nearer animals draw back with misgiving, but those in the rear press on to get a view until, as the wolf-man gathers speed, the moving herd runs hard. It is then that they find themselves running between converging lines of stone piles, and women jump up from behind these cairns waving their robes and yelling. The herd stampedes to the edges of a sheer cliff, too late to check their pace after the leaders have seen the peril ahead. The rush of the herd drives onward into space, and hundreds, even thousands of great beasts fall headlong to lie dead or mangled in heaps on the rocks below. So the tribe assembles for great feasting, and heavy labour.

The trap

The hides were needed for clothing, shields, tents, and rope; the brains for dressing skins; the sinews and guts for bow-strings, lashings and thread; the hoofs and horns for weapon points, hafts, handles, spoons, cups, window lights, and glue, which mixed with oil made a dressing for leather; the gall for cleansing; the hair for felting or weaving; the fat for lamp oil and candles. The meat in large flakes was sun-dried for storage. The dried meat, pounded, mixed with berries and filled with melted fat made pemmican, the best of winter foods.

Where there were no cliffs over which a herd could be driven, the practice of calling the game was just the same, but the narrowing avenue of stone heaps led to the gate of a ring fence into which the big game were penned for slaughter.

This ring fence has many countries, many names, being the pound or corrall of North America, jaral of Mexico, kraal of Africa, keddah of India, circus of Rome, bull-ring of Spain and old England. With the advancing ages the perching of spectators on the fence became the Auditorium of the circus, Stadium, and Colosseum, and the baiting of beasts and men, the wild beast fights, the mimic battles, and martyrdom of saints, varied the savage programme with racing, tournaments, and athletic sports.

So far as our subject is concerned, however, one need only note that herds of wild animals, the fighting males, the mothers and their young of many species much too swift for men to run down in the open, were captured alive and unhurt. Among these were ponies with their mares and foals.

Pets

The pity for young animals and the love of pets are native traits in human character, and universal among savages.

The savage hunter brought kittens and puppies into camp to be the playthings of his wife and children, and from these pets descend the whole of our cats and dogs. And in the tribal captures at the corralls were all sorts of young animals claimed by the women and children because they were not worth killing. These ponies, cattle, deer, sheep, goats and antelope grew up with human kind, glad to get shelter from the wolves at night, allowed to graze in safety outside the camp by day. If they proved useful the men were tolerant. The useful kinds were even protected at grass by boys told off as herders, to run them into camp at the first sign of danger.

Milch mares

The mother who ran dry of milk, saw foals getting milk from the mares, and would have mare's milk for her child. The mares who gave most milk were preferred to others. From this came the natural idea of breeding from good milch mares to improve the strain, and get a larger yield. And thus the use and value grew of mare's milk with its many preparations as a staple food for children, then of grown-ups, until the practice of herding tame horse stock became general among the hordes of Asia. Since then it has been found that cows gave more and better milk than mares.

As the wild game migrated between their high summer range and their lowland wintering grounds the savage tribes followed in search of meat. With the beginning of the pastoral age the need was urgent of moving the flocks and herds between the summer and the winter pastures. But as yet there were no beasts of draught or burden to carry the tribal camp. That meant the keeping of two camp equipments, or maybe a camp upon the highlands to supplement the village in the lowlands; and it was doubtful policy to leave valuable tents as a prey for marauding rivals. A larger and a bitter need arose when the tribe must move, and old folk who lacked the strength to travel must be left behind. There is nothing so terrible in savage life as the necessity of leaving old men and women exposed upon a hilltop after the tribe has moved. The poor old thing is provided with warm robes, a fire, fuel, water and some food, but as the days pass the last cinders, carefully raked together, sink to dust, and the cautious wolves close in for the final rush. Savages love as we do, think as we do, and their life which has for us some glamour of romance is full for them of sordid realism. So we may reckon well that some good matron grudged the loss, at moving time, of tent poles, the cutting of which had cost her heavy labour, done as it was without steel tools like ours.