Even as Joe spoke Old Charlie stopped, turned, and looked back at him with melancholy eyes. “Go on, Charlie!” entreated Joe; “that’s a good fellow, go on!” But Charlie stood still, half-turned in his tracks, in mute remonstrance. It was new business to him, and he had not a favorable opinion regarding it. The leading horse, nothing loath, had also stopped. “Whip ’im!” shouted Captain Bill from the boat, which, with its impetus, was bearing rapidly down on horse and boy. “Thrash ’im!” Joe lifted the whip and let it fall lightly on the horse’s back. “Get up, Charlie!” he cried; “get up now, quick!” “Oh, whip ’im!” cried the captain. “Give ’im a good un!” Again the whip descended lightly on Old Charlie’s back; but the horse did not move. This, too, was new treatment, which he did not seem in the least to understand. By this time Captain Bill was very angry. He seized the tiller, and swept it back till the stern of the boat touched the bank. “Whip that hoss!” he cried, leaping to the tow-path, “or I’ll whip you!” For an instant Joe stood irresolute; then, with sudden determination, he passed the handle of the whip to the angry man who faced him. “I won’t,” he said slowly, with set teeth; “I won’t whip Old Charlie. I’ll die first!” Infuriated beyond measure, Captain Bill seized the whip and raised it swiftly in the air. Just as it was about to descend on Joe’s head and shoulders, the frightened horse, swinging his body around nervously, caught the full force of the blow. But it mattered little to Captain Bill. The beast was as much an object of his wrath as was the boy. Again the whip cut the air and curled cruelly about the horse’s body. Again and again it fell, while Old Charlie, frightened and tortured, leaped and struggled for release. Poor Joe, who was trying alternately to soothe the horse and to entreat the man who was beating him, felt every stroke of the cruel whip almost as sharply as if it had been inflicted on his own back. At last the captain stopped. “It’ll be your turn next!” he said savagely, throwing the whip toward Joe, and leaping to the deck of his boat. The tow-line was pulled taut, and the boat moved on again. The poor beast, still quivering with excitement and pain, and allowing himself now to be led quietly along, showed by the occasional touch of his nose to the boy’s breast or shoulder that he wanted his sympathy and friendship. So they trudged on together, boy and horse, each helping and comforting the other,--on in distress and despair, through cold and rain and mud, into the darkness, the dreariness, the frightfulness of another night! How they got through that evening until ten o’clock, Joe could never quite recollect. His memory recalled only a confusion of lights and noises, of splashing mud and roaring water, of tangled tow-lines and interfering boats.