tmosphere
at the blanket-swathed, hooded figure that seemed about to collapse on
the straw.

"'E ain't got no more life in 'im than a sick cat," said one. "The
Bellair folks will beat us 'oller; every one o' their blooming hentries
is as fit as fiddles."

"Ain't we worked on 'im for four mortal hours?" demanded another. "Wot
more can we do?"

"Send for old 'Awkins an' tell 'im, that's all."

A shudder seemed to shake the group in the stall. It was clear that Mr.
Hawkins would be displeased, and that his displeasure was something to
be dreaded. Bonfire, too, was seen to shudder, but it was not from fear
of Hawkins's wrath. Little did Bonfire care just then for grooms, head
or ordinary. He shuddered because of certain aches that dwelt within
him.

In his stomach was a queer feeling which he did not at all understand.
In his head was a dizziness which made him wish that the stall would not
move about so. Streaks of pain shot along his backbone and slid down
his legs. Hot and cold flashes swept over his body. For Bonfire had a
bad case of car-sickness--a malady differing from sea-sickness largely
in name only--also a well-developed cold complicated by nervous
indigestion.

Tuned to the key, he had left the home stables. Then they had led him
into that box on wheels and the trouble had begun. Men shouted, bells
clanged, whistles shrieked. Bonfire felt the box start with a jerk, and,
thumping, rumbling, jolting, swaying, move somewhere off into the night.

In an agony of apprehension--neck stretched, eyes staring, ears pointed,
nostrils quivering, legs stiffened, Bonfire waited for the end. But of
end there seemed to be none. Shock after shock Bonfire withstood, and
still found himself waiting. What it all meant he could not guess. There
were the other horses that had been taken with him into the box, some
placidly munching hay, others looking curiously about. There were the
familiar grooms who talked soothingly in his ear and patted his neck in
vain. The terror of the thing, this being whirled noisily away in a box,
had struck deep into Bonfire's brain, and he could not get it out. So he
stood for many hours, neither eating nor sleeping, listening to the
noises, feeling the motion, and trembling as one with ague.

Of course it was absurd for Bonfire to go to pieces in that fashion. You
can ship a Missouri Modoc around the world and he will finish almost as
sound as he started. But Bonfire had blood and breeding and