The Little Warhorse knew practically all the Dogs in town. First, there
was a very large brown Dog that had pursued him many times, a Dog that
he always got rid of by slipping through a hole in a board fence.
Second, there was a small active Dog that could follow through that
hole, and him he baffled by leaping a twenty-foot irrigation ditch that
had steep sides and a swift current. The Dog could not make this leap.
It was "sure medicine" for that foe, and the boys still call the place
"Old Jacky's Jump." But there was a Greyhound that could leap better
than the Jack, and when he could not follow through a fence, he jumped
over it. He tried the Warhorse's mettle more than once, and Jacky only
saved himself by his quick dodging, till they got to an Osage hedge,
and here the Greyhound had to give it up. Besides these, there was in
town a rabble of big and little Dogs that were troublesome, but easily
left behind in the open.
In the country there was a Dog at each farm-house, but only one that
the Warhorse really feared; that was a long-legged, fierce, black Dog,
a brute so swift and pertinacious that he had several times forced the
Warhorse almost to the last extremity.
For the town Cats he cared little; only once or twice had he been
threatened by them. A huge Tom-cat flushed with many victories came
crawling up to where he fed one moonlight night. Jack Warhorse saw the
black creature with the glowing eyes, and a moment before the final
rush, he faced it, raised up on his haunches,--his hind legs,--at full
length on his toes,--with his broad ears towering up yet six inches
higher; then letting out a loud churrr-churrr, his best attempt at a
roar, he sprang five feet forward and landed on the Cat's head, driving
in his sharp hind nails, and the old Tom fled in terror from the weird
two-legged giant. This trick he had tried several times with success,
but twice it turned out a sad failure: once, when the Cat proved to be
a mother whose Kittens were near; then Jack Warhorse had to flee for
his life; and the other time was when he made the mistake of landing
hard on a Skunk.
But the Greyhound was the dangerous enemy, and in him the Warhorse
might have found his fate, but for a curious adventure with a happy
ending for Jack.
He fed by night; there were fewer enemies about then, and it was easier
to hide; but one day at dawn in winter he had lingered long at an
alfalfa stack and was crossing the open snow toward his favorite form,
when, as ill-luck would have it, he met the Greyhound prowling outside
the town. With open snow and growing daylight there was no chance to
hide, nothing but a run in the open with soft snow that hindered the
Jack more than it did the Hound.
Off they went--superb runners in fine fettle. How they skimmed across
the snow, raising it in little puff-puff-puffs, each time their nimble
feet went down. This way and that, swerving and dodging, went the
chase. Everything favored the Dog,--his empty stomach, the cold
weather, the soft snow,--while the Rabbit was handicapped by his heavy
meal of alfalfa. But his feet went puff--puff so fast that a dozen of
the little snow-jets were in view at once. The chase continued in the
open; no friendly hedge was near, and every attempt to reach a fence
was cleverly stopped by the Hound. Jack's ears were losing their bold
up-cock, a sure sign of failing heart or wind, when all at once these
flags went stiffly up, as under sudden renewal of strength. The
Warhorse put forth all his power, not to reach the hedge to the north,
but over the open prairie eastward. The Greyhound followed, and within
fifty yards the Jack dodged to foil his fierce pursuer; but on the next
tack he was on his eastern course again, and so tacking and dodging, he
kept the line direct for the next farm-house, where was a very high
board fence with a hen-hole, and where also there dwelt his other hated
enemy, the big black Dog. An outer hedge delayed the Greyhound for a
moment and gave Jack time to dash through the hen-hole into the yard,
where he hid to one side. The Greyhound rushed around to the low gate,
leaped over that among the Hens, and as they fled cackling and
fluttering, some Lambs bleated loudly. Their natural guardian, the big
black Dog, ran to the rescue, and Warhorse slipped out again by the
hole at which he had entered. Horrible sounds of Dog hate and fury were
heard behind him in the hen-yard, and soon the shouts of men were
added. How it ended he did not know or seek to learn, but it was
remarkable that he never afterward was troubled by the swift Greyhound
that formerly lived in Newchusen.