The Horse Tamer

by Walter Farley

  Angry blows against wood came from inside the wagon and the crowd roared louder.

  “Let’s see what you got inside, Finn!” someone shouted. The urgent request was echoed by others. “Open up!” the crowd cried. “Open up!”

  “Sure, go ahead,” Bill prodded the big man. “You got your show, a real circus act even to the wagon. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

  Finn Caspersen became more frightened than he’d ever been in his life. He listened to the savage thumps coming from the closed wagon and said in panic, “All right, Bill, you win. W-What do you want me to do? How do I get out of this?”

  “I want you to come and work for me again.”

  “You want me to what?”

  “I want you where I can watch you,” Bill said decisively. “You’re not goin’ to touch a horse ever again, if I can help it. Nor are you goin’ to sell any more secret taming medicines or cure-alls. You’ve got to promise.… ”

  “I’m not promising anything,” the big man said with sudden defiance.

  “I think you will, Finn, an’ it won’t take long for you to make up your mind.” Bill Dailey suddenly jumped down to the ring, landing lightly on the balls of his feet.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Open this door for you.”

  Finn Caspersen bit his heavy lower lip. “But you just said you didn’t want me to touch another horse,” he reminded Bill as a last resort. The persistent chant of the crowd had become deafening.

  “This isn’t a horse,” Bill answered, opening the door.

  MAN-EATER!

  16

  The wagon had a double door and Bill opened only the lower half. “When he shows his head, catch hold of the halter strap on your side,” Bill told Finn.

  “Not me,” the big man answered. “You won’t catch me.… ”

  “You’d better. The only chance we have to get out of this ring alive is to keep him between us.”

  Finn Caspersen froze in terror and Bill Dailey prodded him hard. “Get ready,” he warned. “He’ll be pushin’ his head out any second now. Funny thing, Finn, I got the halter on him the same way I did with Wild Bess. Or don’t you remember her? She was the first case you got me. She chased me over the haymow rail, an’ I got a rope halter on her by usin’ a long stick. Remember now? Or is that goin’ too far back for you?”

  Whatever Finn Caspersen had been about to say died on his lips, for suddenly an ugly head appeared in the doorway. There was a long leather strap attached to either side of the halter.

  “Now,” Bill said. “Grab! I’m opening the top of the door!”

  The wild African mountain zebra would have stopped any show or circus. There was no one in the vast arena, including Bill Dailey, who did not feel a tremor of fear run through his body at the sight of him.

  “When he comes,” Bill warned, “keep him between us. Here’s a chance to throw your weight around.”

  Finn as well as most of the spectators knew the evil reputation of this animal. He was the only zebra in New York, having been captured a few months before in northeast Africa, and was the largest of his species. He had killed one zoo keeper and crippled several others. The newspapers had nicknamed him Man-Eater.

  Many in the crowd got to their feet and made for the exits. There was too little separating them from this wild beast—only a low rail and two men.

  Man-Eater’s long ears, fringed with dirty hair, were swept back hard against his head. His eyes were bloodshot and gleamed like balls of fire. His black-striped body trembled with his mounting rage at being held in captivity. He was grotesquely ugly, low-necked, pot-bellied and filthy.

  Without taking his eyes off the zebra, Finn said, “Get me out of here and I’ll promise you anything.”

  “Hold on, then. Here he comes!”

  The beast sprang at them with open mouth and vicious-looking teeth. He made directly for Finn and Bill pulled hard, trying to upset him. The zebra’s head came around with a snap but he did not lose his balance and fall.

  “Hold him, Finn!” Bill cried.

  The savage eyes bore down on Bill and for a terrifying second he thought that Finn had bolted, leaving him alone. Then the zebra was brought to an abrupt stop by the big man. Bill jumped away, then quickly wound his strap around the zebra’s haunches. When the ugly head was being pulled in Finn’s direction Bill yanked hard, throwing the zebra off balance. Down the beast went on one knee. Bill pulled again, rolling him over. But before he could do anything else the zebra had jumped to his feet and was charging Finn!

  Dropping his strap, Finn ran from the ring. The big man went over the rail flying, landing in the first row of seats which had already been vacated. Bill stopped the zebra but then the beast turned on him!

  When the attack came Bill too had no alternative but to run. Still holding the strap, he moved in a tight, fast circle with the zebra after him. He tried to catch hold of the long, ropelike tail but couldn’t. Then he threw himself hard against the striped body, trying to pull the vicious head around. But he was not heavy enough to throw the animal off balance and slipped and almost fell. As he moved forward again he felt Finn’s loose strap encircle his legs. He tried to jump clear of it but the zebra moved at the same time, pulling the dangling strap taut. Bill found himself falling.

  Man-Eater!

  Desperately Bill tried to catch hold of the short-maned neck to keep the snapping teeth away from him. He succeeded in grabbing the hair just as something heavy landed on the zebra’s haunches from the roof of the red circus wagon which was alongside. The blow knocked the beast off balance and he went down hard, falling beside Bill. Then somebody was astride him, half on, half off, and Bill heard his brother’s voice.

  “I got hold of his tail. Tie it quick!”

  Bill realized then that it was Hank who had leaped from the wagon roof onto the zebra. Quickly he tied the halter strap to the hairy end of the tail and they jumped away together.

  The zebra staggered to his feet, the strap having been left slack enough to allow for this. He turned around slowly at first as if uncertain what he should attack. Then he went faster, following the pull on his head and fighting himself without knowing it. He spun crazily and in a short time fell over. Within a moment he had jumped up again and was turning as rapidly as before.

  Bill and Hank had moved to the other side of the ring. In common with the vast, silent crowd they watched the furious animal spin like a pinwheel. In his frenzy and frustration he looked uglier than ever. His thick body had the oily smoothness of a snake. But he had none of a snake’s craftiness. His temper had risen to fever pitch and he turned faster, spending all his strength and energy fighting himself without knowing it.

  Bill said, “It won’t be long now.” The zebra’s determination to resist until completely exhausted was all Bill had hoped for. Without pain or injury, the zebra would spin until he could be brought under control and handled.

  They lost track of the time but finally, wavering and about to fall, the zebra came to an unsteady stop. Bill went to him quickly and caught hold of the halter. Now it was time to go to work again. The small glazed eyes were turned his way but the beast made no attempt to ravage or resist. Bill ran his hands over the thick neck, steadying him and speaking kindly to him. Finally he untied the strap from the zebra’s tail.

  The crowd watched in stunned silence. Finn Caspersen got to his feet and straightened his clothes. Someone pointed to him and laughed. It broke the tension and more laughter followed. It was echoed by thunderous applause for Bill Dailey.

  “You done?” Hank asked his brother, coming up beside him.

  “For now.”

  “Will he stay this way?”

  “If I keep working with him. But go get Finn now. Tell him we’re leavin’. The show’s over.” As Hank started to leave the ring Bill called him back. “And thanks for doin’ what you did. It took a lot of nerve.”

  Hank Dailey hurried on, his face flushed with pride. He’d never tell h
is brother that he hadn’t jumped from the wagon roof on purpose. He’d fallen. But maybe he would have jumped anyway.

  “I guess that’s about all there is to it,” Henry Dailey said, finishing his story and rising from the straw in the stable. “Now I’m an old man and can’t look a zebra in the face without thinkin’ of the one I sat on at Niblo’s Garden.”

  “Did your brother keep him tame?” Alec asked.

  “Up to a point. He got the zebra to pull the circus man around in a cart but the man was never truly safe. Man-Eater made Bill’s reputation, though. After that, there wasn’t a soul in the country who didn’t want his help with difficult horses. Bill became the best horse-tamer there ever was. He even wrote a book about it to reach those he couldn’t visit personally. He was a big man, all right … even for a little guy.”

  Alec went over to the Black Stallion and rubbed him thoughtfully. “What became of Finn Caspersen? He was quite a character. Did he stay with your brother as he promised he’d do?”

  “For a while.”

  “You mean he ran out on him again?”

  “Well, not exactly. What I mean is that he never went back to treatin’ horses. He knew Bill wouldn’t have stood for that. No, Finn got hold of another way of makin’ a living and it suited him just fine. He made a fortune at it.”

  “What was it?”

  “Selling bicycles.”

  “Bicycles?” Alec repeated, puzzled. “What was so great about them?”

  “These were extra-special bicycles. You see, Finn figured that a bicycle craze was about to sweep New York. He decided that if girls were bein’ allowed to ride horseback alone in the park, even more of ’em would soon be ridin’ bicycles. It would give ’em a chance to wear sporty clothes and slenderize at the same time.

  “It turned out that way, too,” Henry continued thoughtfully. “Finn even sold a bike to Lillian Russell—that was the showgirl my brother thought was so pretty, the one at the Casino Theater on Broadway. It was a gold-plated bike with mother-of-pearl handlebars on which her monogram was engraved in diamonds and emeralds. Even the hubs and spokes were set with jewels that used to sparkle in the sun when she rode by.”

  “You mean you saw her?”

  “I sure did,” Henry replied dreamily.

  “But Finn couldn’t have sold many of that kind of bike,” Alec said.

  “No, but he made enough in the business to start sellin’ electric carriages that went as fast as eleven miles an hour! They sure scared a lot of horses and as a result my brother was busier than ever.”

  “Was that the last you heard of Finn?”

  “Oh, no, I saw him after that. A few years later when I returned to New York alone I saw him drivin’ one of the craziest things I’d ever seen in my life up to that time. It was called a devil wagon.”

  “What did it do?”

  Henry pulled on a piece of straw. “It was one of the first gasoline carriages, Alec, and Finn was selling ’em. He advertised that they were ‘noiseless, odorless, and perfectly safe and controllable, as most horses aren’t!” He even predicted they’d soon be in general use. Finn was the laughingstock of New York because of his wild claims, so when he passed me I laughed at him too. I even yelled with the others, ‘Get a horse!’ ”

  The Black Stallion snorted and they turned to him, smiling.

  Alec said, “I guess what the Black means is that Finn had the last laugh.”

  “Maybe so,” Henry answered. “But I don’t think even Finn dreamed we’d be flying our horse across the Atlantic Ocean.” He made for the door. “C’mon, let’s see if they’re ready to go yet.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Walter Farley’s love for horses began when he was a small boy living in Syracuse, New York, and continued as he grew up in New York City, where his family moved. Unlike most city children, he was able to fulfill this love through an uncle who was a professional horseman. Young Walter spent much of his time with his uncle, learning about the different kinds of horse training and the people associated with them.

  Walter Farley began to write his first book, The Black Stallion, while he was a student at Brooklyn’s Erasmus Hall High School and Mercersburg Academy in Pennsylvania. He eventually finished it, and it was published in 1941 while he was still an undergraduate at Columbia University.

  The appearance of The Black Stallion brought such an enthusiastic response from young readers that Mr. Farley went on to create more stories about the Black, and about other horses as well. In his life he wrote a total of thirty-four books, including Man o’ War, the story of America’s greatest thoroughbred, and two photographic storybooks based on the two Black Stallion movies. His books have been enormously popular in the United States and have been published in twenty-one foreign countries.

  Mr. Farley and his wife, Rosemary, had four children, whom they raised on a farm in Pennsylvania and at a beach house in Florida. Horses, dogs, and cats were always a part of the household.

  In 1989 Mr. Farley was honored by his hometown library in Venice, Florida, which established the Walter Farley Literary Landmark in its children’s wing. Mr. Farley died in October 1989, shortly before the publication of The Young Black Stallion, the twenty-first book in the Black Stallion series. Mr. Farley co-authored The Young Black Stallion with his son, Steven.