“Where’d you get that horse?” he demanded, panting with excitement. “Where’d you get him?” “I got ’im where ’e grew, sonny, but they aint no more like ’im, so you needn’t go lookin’ for one.” “But I want to know--” “You don’t want to know nothin’. You go ten’ to them hosses,” interrupted Captain Bill. “See where the boat’s gittin’ to. Mind your business and stop asking questions.” “But that horse--” “Never mind that hoss. You ten’ to business. He’s my hoss now!” “No, he’s not your horse! He’s my father’s horse. He was stolen from my father’s barn. He--” The captain took one step toward the boy, fastened his hand in Joe’s collar, and dragged and pushed him to his post. Joe was frightened and cowed. His lips turned white. He dared no longer disobey. He went ahead and resumed his monotonous duties, but in his brain was a whirlpool of rage. The rain fell harder than ever; the wind blew in fierce gusts; the tow-path was muddy beyond description. It was a day on which neither man nor beast should have labored except under shelter. Joe walked as much as possible at Old Charlie’s head, urging him gently at times, putting his arm caressingly over the beast’s drooping neck, or twining his hand in the long, wet mane. He talked to the horse, too, in the old familiar way; telling him of his troubles, pitying him for his own hard lot, sympathizing with him, until he fancied that tears stood in the horse’s eyes. He knew they were rolling down his own face. It was evident that the horse had been on a long journey, though the distance was not great from the place from which he had been stolen. The thief was a crafty and skilful one, and had kept the animal out of the channels of travel, where search would be most likely. What adventures he had had, and what other operations he had carried on meanwhile, no one knew. Late in the afternoon, when both boy and horse should have been relieved from further work, Old Charlie began to indulge in a habit which he had acquired on the farm. Whenever he had thought his work too hard, or his hours too long, or the weather too inclement for further labor, he would stop in his tracks and turn his head around to his driver, and stand gazing in mute appeal, until he was urged forward. Charlie had never been punished for this. It was not really balkiness, for the horse went on stoutly after a moment’s rest. But for that matter, Old Charlie had been indulged at home in all sorts of queer ways. Now, however, the case was quite different. Joe tried to make these interruptions as short as possible, so that they should not interfere seriously with the passage of the boat; but the horse’s conduct soon attracted Captain Bill’s attention. “Tryin’ to loaf, eh? Well, I’ll cure the lazy old beast o’ that,” he said. He took a whip from the cabin and tossed it out to Joe. “Next time that hoss does that,” he said, “whip ’im! Don’t let him do it again.” “No, sir! I--I’ll try not to.”