Chapter III: Part II: Sonny’s Gratitude

The sun beat fiercely down upon the Cuban shore, and waves of hot air quivered above the sand. A short distance off shore the great transports swung quietly to their anchors in the sheltered bay, as boatload after boatload of troops disembarked and were rowed to the white beach, where their comrades were already busy getting their arms and the camp paraphernalia up to the camping-ground.

A cavalry regiment with its horses was being sent ashore; and a wretched enough time they were having, too; for the transportation facilities were extremely limited. One after another the poor beasts were forced upon the gangplank, which was so arranged that it slid them off into the water to swim for the beach, probably five hundred yards distant.

They were nearly all stout, brave animals, and had seen hard service upon the Western frontier, but this was an entirely new experience, and many were nearly wild with terror. As they were forced into the water a man in the stern of one of the boats would take the halter-strap and guide one swimming animal to the shore, and the others followed as fast as the waves and their own strength permitted.

Our deepest interest is centered on one splendid, big, dappled gray which stands at the end of the gangplank about to take his turn. His beautiful eyes show that he is keenly observing all that is happening about him. His delicate ears are pricked forward, or laid back as though to catch the faintest sound, and the wide nostrils quiver with excitement as he draws in long breaths of the briny air, or gives a snort of protest. Beside him, with his arm thrown caressingly over the beautifully arched neck, stands a young soldier, evidently a sergeant. He is a handsome fellow, whose bronzed skin and muscular form show that he has seen service. Unquestionably he and his horse understand each other thoroughly, for he is talking to the intelligent creature, who seems to comprehend him perfectly.

“Now, old fellow, don’t you get panicky when you’re dipped. Just put your best leg forward and pungle straight for that shore yonder. Do you hear what I’m saying?” and he looked into the horse’s eyes as one might look into the eyes of a human being.

The horse gave his head a toss up and down, as though he were answering “yes,” and then turned to rub it against the man’s shoulder. “Come along, gray jacket,” called the man who stood at the end of the plank, “it’s your turn now,” and he reached for the halter-strap. The horse walked to the end of the plank, planted his dainty feet upon it, and would not budge another inch. The man coaxed and tugged, but all to no purpose. At last, losing patience, he cried: “Well, you’re a dandy, aint you, now? I’ll get something that’ll give you your marchin’ orders.” He reached for a heavy balestick which was lying on the deck, but before he could administer the blow the stick was wrenched from his hand and flung far out into the blue water.

The man looked in utter amazement to encounter a pair of gray eyes that fairly snapped fire at him: “Did you think I was going to let you knock him with that stick? Not much. Come on, old man, you’ll follow _me_, I know,” said the sergeant, and, going to the side of the ship, he caught hold of a rope which dangled from above and swung himself over the side, to drop into one of the boats below.

As he disappeared the horse gave a loud neigh, as though to call him back. “Come, Sonny, come on, old fellow,” called his master; and as though the ship no longer held anything worth remaining on board for, the beautiful creature gave another loud whinny and plunged into the water.

With powerful strokes he swam straight for the beloved object in the boat, which was being pulled slowly toward the shore. The sergeant, who was now seated in the stern of the boat, reached out, and, taking hold of the leader which had been loosely knotted about the horse’s neck, gently towed the swimming animal, while talking to him encouragingly. And, as though he gained strength and courage from the beloved voice, the horse grew less and less nervous and settled down to the long, steady strokes which carried him swiftly toward the shore. They were within a hundred yards of it when he began to plunge and hold back.

“Come on, Sonny; come on; what’s up?” asked his master.

But the horse was unable to respond.

“By Jove! he’s stuck in the seaweed; he’ll be a goner, sure as guns; that stuff has done up more ’n one of ’em already,” cried one of the men.

“He won’t be a ‘goner’ if I can help it!” exclaimed the sergeant, and in another instant he had cast hat, coat, and arms into the boat and plunged into the water.

“Steady, Sonny; steady, old boy. I’ll have you free in a minute,” he called to the struggling horse. At the sound of his voice the wild plunges ceased and he looked pathetically at his master with his great, eloquent eyes.

Swimming to the horse’s side, the man rested one hand upon the broad back, and reached down into the water; but he could not reach low enough to disentangle the seaweed from the hind feet. “Hold on a minute, boys,” he called to the men in the boat. “Steady now,” and with a mighty dive he disappeared beneath the waves. “He’ll be kicked to flinders,” shouted one of the soldiers. “Well, let him, if he’s fool enough to make such a fuss over a horse. I’d see every one of them soaking on the coral reef before I’d risk my neck for ’em.” “Reckon you would, Bill; and the whole boatload of us into the bargain,” was the scornful reply of one of his comrades; “but that younker’s made of different stuff.”

By this time the sergeant had come sputtering to the surface, and calling out: “All right; pull ahead,” he rested one dripping arm across the horse’s withers, and began to swim beside him.

“Come on into the boat,” called one of the men.

“Go ahead; I’m all right,” was the reply, and a moment later they had reached the shore and were scrambling up the beach.

“You are a durned fool to get a ducking for that brute,” exclaimed the man who had before spoken disparagingly of the sergeant’s devotion to his horse.

“Think so?” was the cool reply. “Well, when you’ve had a friend as long as I’ve had him for one, whether that friend travels on four feet or two, you’d better stick to him, if he proves as true to you as this one has to me. We’ve traveled together nine years now, and in all that time we’ve never been apart a day, and he’s helped me out of many a bad fix, I can tell you.”

“He must be nigh about twenty year old, aint he?” asked the man with a laugh.

“He is old enough to know a _chump_ when he sees one, and to stick to a friend when he’s got one; and that’s more than some other live critters can do”; and the sergeant walked off up the beach to join his troop.

As they walked along, the man who had taken his part in the boat overtook him, and asked: “How long have you had that horse, anyhow, sergeant?”

“Well,” he replied, with a queer sort of smile, “I’ve sort of looked upon him as mine ever since he drew his first breath, for his mother was the only friend I ever had. But I can’t say as he’s been my legal property more than three years.”

“I thought you said you’d had him nine years? He doesn’t look more than nine now.”

“He was nine years old the sixth of last April, and, as I said before, we haven’t been apart a day. I looked after him till he was four years old, and after that he took care of me. Our part of the world got too hot for us about that time, and one dark night we put out; didn’t we, Sonny?” turning to stroke the great neck which was rapidly drying in the tropical sun. Sonny answered with a soft whinny and poked his nose against the man’s face.

His interrogator looked at him questioningly, and the sergeant, in whom we can no longer fail to recognize our friend, Bob Slocum, said: “I was raised down on Cape Cod, and by the meanest old duck that ever gave a boy cuffs for his breakfast, knocks for dinner, and a kick for his supper. Don’t remember my parents. Sonny here was the colt of one of his mares; and a beauty she was, too. But when she got too old to work he would have let her starve if Squire Davis hadn’t bought her. The squire took pity on her and let her stay in his barn and took care of her till she died.

“When Sonny was two years old Wheeler undertook to break him; but he came nearer killing him instead, for Sonny was nervous and high-spirited, and old Wheeler had a temper like a very devil. It makes my blood boil to think of the way he handled that colt; I wonder he didn’t ruin him, and I believe he would have, if it hadn’t been for me. But after they’d had one of their shindies and Sonny was all done up, and old Wheeler was madder than a hornet and had gone up to the house to take out his spunk on his wife, I’d sneak into the pasture, and Sonny would just put for me. He seemed to try to tell me his troubles, and I’d comfort and pet him till he’d get quieted down a bit. I was only fourteen years old then, and he and I stood it a year longer, and then one dark night we took French leave and lit out. I don’t know how we ever escaped being caught, or kept from starving, but we did both.

“Sonny lived on grass and I on what I could beg. I knew the country for miles around, and I managed to keep well hidden during the daytime. We came mighty near being caught lots of times, and had no end of close shaves, I can tell you. But in time I managed to get into New York State, and then we got on pretty well. I could do anything with Sonny, and at last we struck the towpaths. I gave the towmen lifts for my board and a feed for Sonny, and they didn’t bother to ask where we had come from or where we were going, so long as we could make ourselves useful.

“By-and-by we found ourselves out in western New York, and it wasn’t much further to Ohio; so on we went till the next thing we knew we were clear out in Colorado. Then I got a notion I’d like to go soldiering, and Sonny and I enlisted with the regulars. We’ve been with them ever since. I was only fifteen, but everyone thought I was seventeen, for I was nearly as tall as I am now, and had been obliged to shift for myself so long that there wasn’t much of the boy left in me, I can tell you. Sonny had got to be a beauty, and I could have sold him a dozen times over, but, you see, he wasn’t mine to sell, even if I’d wanted to, which I didn’t.

“In two years more I’d managed to scratch together a couple of hundred dollars somehow, and then I went to the colonel and up and told him the whole story, and asked him to send the money to old Wheeler for me. I’d heard the old man say a dozen times that he would sell Sonny for that sum rather than take the risk of being killed while breaking him. And he hadn’t broken him, either; I’d done it. That was three years ago. The money went all right and I’ve got the receipt all safe. Old Wheeler’s satisfied, and so am I. I’ve been with the regiment ever since. We’ve had some pretty hot times with the Ingins out there; you know that as well as I do, but I’ve a notion we’re in for a hotter one right here than we’ve seen yet. Sonny has helped me out of many a tight place, and we’ve seen some mighty tough times together, but I could count on him every time, and I believe he’d lay down his life for me in a minute. I expect he will save it for me yet. I’d have been a fine one to sit in that boat and watch him go to the bottom, wouldn’t I?”

Bob little dreamed how soon Sonny would repay his devotion.

Who would wish to picture the horrors of a battlefield, with its scream of shot, its burst of shell, and the cries of the wounded? Certainly not I, but I cannot complete my story of Sonny without touching the horrible scene.

A charge had been made and many a riderless horse was rushing aimlessly about; for when the trusting creatures no longer felt the guiding hand nor heard the encouraging voice of their masters, chaos seemed indeed to have come again. No one would have recognized in the terrified animals the well-trained creatures which had gathered for the charge.

Among them was Sonny, rushing he knew not whither. Poor Sonny! No longer clean and shining, but splashed with mud, blackened with powder, and bleeding from a ghastly wound in his shoulder. From some instinct of self-preservation the horses ran to the rear, and he ran with them. But he had not gone far when he was captured by a trooper whose horse had been shot under him, and a moment later he was dashing up the hill and into the thickest of the fight.

Wounds were unnoticed and terror disregarded; no one had time to think of a horse when human beings were struggling to destroy each other in order to settle a disputed question and free a down-trodden race.

Poor Sonny! No one could look into the horse’s mind and there see the anguish he was suffering for the loss of the master whom he had loved and served so faithfully for nine years, and whom he would willingly have followed to his death, if necessary. Whatever trials he had before encountered; whatever suffering he had been compelled to endure, his trusted master had been there to help him bear them. Now in the midst of battle he was as much alone as though he had been abandoned in a wilderness.

Night fell and the carnage ended. Long trains of ambulances were being driven to the rear; wounded men were dragging themselves along the tracks; others were being helped over the rough road by comrades, or were borne on rudely constructed stretchers to the field hospital, where Red Cross nurses and surgeons were doing their utmost to relieve the suffering.

In the field behind them lay those who needed neither the surgeon’s skill nor the nurse’s care.

“Here, Jim, give me a lift, will you?” said a soldier at the edge of the field, as he was striving to carry a badly wounded comrade to the rear.

The man addressed was limping along and leading a horse which limped even worse than he himself did.

The first speaker added quickly: “Where did you get that horse? If he aint Slocum’s ‘Sonny’ I’ll miss my guess.”

“Who’s Slocum? I caught the horse running wild on the field. He was wounded then, but I had to get to the front. Here, let’s get him up on the horse,” he said, speaking of the wounded man.

Together they managed to place him upon the horse’s back and started on. They had not gone five hundred yards when Sonny stopped short, and, throwing up his head, gave a loud neigh.

“What’s up, old man?” asked the man who was leading him.

“He acts as though he smelt something,” said the other.

“Here, come on; we haven’t got time for you to smell out your fodder to-night,” and he started on.

Sonny went a few steps, stopped again, and tried to turn back; but the man now grew impatient, and, giving him a sounding thwack upon his flank, went on down the hill.

Again and again he held back and strove to get away from them.

Reaching camp they lifted the unconscious burden from Sonny’s back and together bore it into one of the tents.

This was Sonny’s chance, and he darted away as he used to do when he heard Bob’s whistle.

It was a rough road, little better than a trail. But Sonny heeded naught. One thought filled his mind; one desire dwelt in his heart.

He soon reached the spot where he had first halted, and, plunging into the dense jungle growth, forced his way through the tangle of grass and vines. On and on he went till he came to a spot far remote from the line of battle and the path taken by those returning with the wounded. A moment later he was whinnying over a figure which lay stretched upon the ground. Nothing could have been more pronounced than his delight at finding the object of his search. But his delight was short-lived, for there was no reply to his repeated neighs and soft whinnies. He put his muzzle down to the beloved face and pushed it against the quiet hands, but won no response. Again and again he tried to rouse the quiet figure. Again and again did he strive to win some recognition. It was all in vain, and at last, when all else failed, he tried to pick up his precious charge with his teeth. But he could find no place where he dared lay hold, for he was far too wise to grasp anything but the clothing. And now Sonny was in dire straits, indeed, for he was unable to move his master and would not leave him.

Night fell, and the dense darkness of the tropics enveloped them. Ere long rain began to fall in torrents, but Sonny did not quit his post. It may have been the rain, or it may have been dear Mother Nature’s healing touch, but whatever the cause was, at about midnight the quiet figure moaned slightly and stirred.

Sonny instantly began to lick the white face; the eyes opened, and Bob looked wildly around. “Sonny,” he murmured. And Sonny neighed loudly. That was all, but the horse was satisfied. All the rest of the night he stood guard; sometimes licking the hands; sometimes whinnying softly.

Morning came with the suddenness of the tropical daybreak, the sun seeming to spring straight up out of the sea, and with the morning poor Bob’s senses returned. He looked at Sonny and said: “Dear old fellow,” and tried to rise. But Bob was not likely to rise for some time. “How did you find me?” he asked, as though the horse could answer him. “I wonder how I came here, anyway? The last thing I remember was trying to crawl out of the reek and roar up yonder.” Once more he tried to raise himself up, but the exertion was too much for him, and with a pitiful moan he fell back unconscious.

Now was Sonny indeed wretched! He stood the very picture of misery. But finally he seemed to decide upon a line of action, and with a parting caress, he started out of the steaming jungle. Once free of it, he encountered human beings; some wounded, some searching for the wounded; and to these last he seemed to turn instinctively. He whinnied, and they turned in surprise to see a horse emerging from a spot where no horse was supposed to be.

“Look at that horse!” exclaimed one of them. “Go catch him, Sam.”

Sam started forward, but Sonny had no notion of being caught again, and with a wild plunge he dashed back into the jungle.

“What in thunder is taking you in there, you fool beast?” the man called after him. “I wonder if there can be anybody in that stifle,” he added. “Hi, Jo, come on; there’s something up; I believe that horse’s rider is in there.”

“Nonsense! How could he get into such a place? I’m not going in.”

“Well, there’s _something_ there, and I’m going to find out what it is, whether you come in or not!” and he started to follow Sonny.

“Then I’ll come, too;” and both men started.

Sonny kept well ahead of them, but they followed, and in a moment later they came upon Bob.

“Well, I’ll be shot!” exclaimed the second man. “If that don’t go clear ahead of anything; that beast has been doing guard duty all night, as sure as guns.”

“I knew there was something here,” said the first speaker. “I’ve seen too much of horses out on the plains not to understand some of their ways.”

Tenderly they lifted the unconscious figure and bore it back to the camp. No need to lead Sonny now; he would not let the dear master out of his sight, and every few steps he reached out his head to sniff at him. Bob was carried into a tent, and all that was possible to be done for him was done; but it was a long time before he could get about again, and meantime the story of Sonny’s devotion spread throughout the camp, and there was not a man in the regiment who was not willing to give a helping hand when the wounded shoulder needed dressing.

As soon as he was able, Bob’s pet was brought to him, and Sonny’s joy was pathetic. No words were needed to show it more plainly. As soon as he could be moved Bob was taken to Montauk, and Sonny went with him.

There we must leave them, only adding that Bob recovered completely, and when he was able once more to sit upon Sonny’s back and join his comrades in their drill, his regiment held no more popular man or horse.

Bob was promoted for bravery; and when the men--not content that he alone should have the honors--presented a medal to Sonny, upon which was engraved the figure of a horse standing beside his wounded master, Bob thought more of Sonny’s glory than of his own.

But Bob had served his time at soldiering, and not long after received his honorable discharge. He returned to the West, for the free life out there suited him, established himself upon a ranch, and has now settled down to business pursuits with Sonny as first superintendent, chief herder, and joint owner, for in Bob’s estimation nothing is too good for Sonny.

HOW NED TOODLES WENT TO COOKING SCHOOL

HOW NED TOODLES WENT TO COOKING SCHOOL

“No, you must not touch that! No, nor that either. Now mind what I’m saying, and oh, do keep away from that sugar-box! Ned Toodles, how can you act so? I’ll never get this dinner ready if you don’t keep out of my way, and stop trying to steal things. I’m ashamed of you!” and Denise caught up her rolling-pin, which lay upon the small pastry board, and drove off the little scamp who was causing all her troubles. And I am sure you will never guess what that little scamp was, so I will tell you that it was a small Welsh pony.

You will wonder what a pony was doing in a kitchen, so I will tell you that this was a most unusual kitchen. It was a tiny one, in the playhouse which this little girl’s father had had built for her in the pretty grounds of her home, and was fitted up in the most perfect manner with everything a real kitchen ever has. The house had a dining room too, and upstairs a bedroom and sitting room for the dollies.

That was one half of it; the other was the dearest little stable in the world, and in it lived Ned Toodles, her pony; Tan, her big goat, and Sailor, her Newfoundland dog.

There, too, were kept Ned’s and Tan’s carriages, harness, etc.

A door led into it from the playhouse, and her pets could come visiting whenever they wished, for they were never tied up, and were too wise to run off.

Denise’s mamma had taught her how to cook many things and she spent hours making all sorts of dainties, and when they were made she would set her table and Ned, Tan, Sailor, and Beauty Buttons, the black-and-tan, would all take their places, standing up, and have a grand feast.

They dearly loved to come into the kitchen while she cooked, and she had some lively times trying to keep them out of mischief.

The morning of which I am telling she was preparing a grand luncheon, and the pets had all been invited, but were not to come till luncheon was served. They kept sniffing at the closed door, however, and doing all they could to push it open, for they smelt the apple pies which were baking, and their mouths fairly watered.

Denise, enveloped in a gingham apron, with a cooking cap set rakishly upon her curly pate, was flying around, trying to get all ready before her guests arrived. She had just set her pies to cool, and was making griddle cakes, of which one must have eaten about a hundred before being satisfied, to judge by their size, when door leading out of the kitchen was pushed open and in walked Ned. He had found a way.

“Oh, dear!” she cried, “now you will lead me a life of it till you get your luncheon, won’t you?”

True enough. To steal an apple from the basket beside the table was only a second’s work, and that gone he turned his attention to the pies. Denise flew after him and rescued first the pies and then the little plate of toast, and at last caught up her rolling-pin and drove him off with that.

He gave a defiant bounce and ran into the dining room.

“Well, do go in there!” she cried; “there isn’t a single thing on the table to eat yet, unless you eat the plates, and I don’t believe even you will want those,” and she put the sugar-box and everything else out of sight. Then, placing her viands upon her tiny tray, she carried them into the dining room, meanwhile keeping one eye on Ned.

But more than one eye was required to watch that little black imp, as Denise soon found, for he bobbed about like a monkey, and behaved in altogether a disgraceful manner for an invited guest. At last she became indignant and said:

“I should think you’d be ashamed of yourself to act so! You’ve just _got_ to wait till it is served, and then you may all come, and----oh, dear! here they all come this minute, and it’s all because you would come before the time you were told to,” and the distracted little hostess looked nearly desperate as three more of her four-footed guests appeared before the hours named in their invitations.

“Sailor, charge!” “Beauty, lie down at once!” and “Tan, come here!” were the orders quickly issued, “and you,” turning to Ned, with a look calculated to strike terror to his heart, “go straight back to the kitchen! You are not fit to come to the table, and there isn’t a single thing left in there for you to eat.”

But alas! she had entirely forgotten the Saratoga potatoes, which were still merrily sizzling in the tiny frying-pan.

With a final defiant jump Ned skipped through the door, and, literally “following his nose,” made straight for the little stove.

To make a dive for the potatoes, whose tempting odor had proved too much for him, was only a second’s work, and then came the climax.

A squeal, a wild leap, and the hot morsel was dropped as the scamp flew across the kitchen and out of the door, upsetting the cooking-table and everything else in his way, to rush across the lawn as though pursued by a wild beast.

With Tan and the dogs close upon her heels, Denise rushed into the kitchen and beheld the wreck.

One glance at the frying-pan, now calmly reposing in the middle of the floor, explained all.

And I wish to add that ever after Ned stood in very wholesome awe of that little stove, and would walk a long way around the kitchen in order to avoid going near it.

OLD NICK’S CHRISTMAS

OLD NICK’S CHRISTMAS