The Horse Story Megapack Read online

  Horse Story Megapack

  Version 1.0.0

  COPYRIGHT INFO

  The Horse Megapack is copyright © 2013 by Wildside Press LLC. All rights reserved. For more information, contact the publisher.

  * * * *

  “Introduction: A Horse Is a Horse…,” by Robert Reginald, is original to this book. Copyright © 2013 by Robert Reginald. Published by arrangement with the author.

  “John G.,” by Katherine Mayo, was originally published in The Outlook, March 20, 1918.

  “Skipper: Being the Biography of a Blue-Ribboner,” by Sewell Ford, was originally published in Scribner’s Monthly Magazine, April 1901.

  “He Walked Around the Horses,” by H. Beam Piper, was originally published in Astounding Science Fiction, April, 1948.

  “Heart Bar Johnny,” by Mary Wickizer Burgess, is original to this book. Copyright © 2013 by Mary Wickizer Burgess. Published by arrangement with the author.

  “My First Horse Surgery,” by Mark E. Burgess, was originally published as Chapter Sixty-Two of Dog Daze and Cat Naps: A Vet Student’s Odyssey, by Mark E. Burgess, Borgo Press, 2011. Copyright © 2011, 2013 by Mark E. Burgess. Published by arrangement with the author.

  “Horse Latitudes: Return to the Country of the Houyhnhnms,” by Robert Reginald, is original to this book. Copyright © 2013 by Robert Reginald. Published by arrangement with the author.

  A NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER

  Over the last few years, our “Megapack” series of ebook anthologies has proved to be one of our most popular endeavors. (Maybe it helps that we sometimes offer them as premiums to our mailing list!) One question we keep getting asked is, “Who’s the editor?”

  The Megapacks (except where specifically credited) are a group effort. Everyone at Wildside works on them. This includes John Betancourt, Mary Wickizer Burgess, Carla Coupe, Steve Coupe, Bonner Menking, Colin Azariah-Kribbs, Robert Reginald, A.E. Warren, and many of Wildside’s authors…who often suggest stories to include (and not just their own!).

  The Horse Story Megapack was edited by Robert Reginald and Mary Wickizer Burgess, with some assistance from me.

  —John Betancourt

  Publisher, Wildside Press LLC

  www.wildsidepress.com

  A NOTE FOR KINDLE READERS

  The Kindle versions of our Megapacks employ active tables of contents for easy navigation…please look for one before writing reviews on Amazon that complain about the lack! (They are sometimes at the ends of ebooks, depending on your reader.)

  RECOMMEND A FAVORITE STORY?

  Do you know a great classic science fiction story, or have a favorite author whom you believe is perfect for the Megapack series? We’d love your suggestions! You can post them on our message board at http://movies.ning.com/forum (there is an area for Wildside Press comments).

  Note: we only consider stories that have already been professionally published. This is not a market for new works.

  TYPOS

  Unfortunately, as hard as we try, a few typos do slip through. We update our ebooks periodically, so make sure you have the current version (or download a fresh copy if it’s been sitting in your ebook reader for months.) It may have already been updated.

  If you spot a new typo, please let us know. We’ll fix it for everyone. You can email the publisher at [email protected] or use the message boards above.

  THE MEGAPACK SERIES

  SCIENCE FICTIO & FANTASY

  The Edward Bellamy Megapack

  The First Reginald Bretnor Megapack

  The Philip K. Dick Megapack

  The Murray Leinster Megapack

  The Second Murray Leinster Megapack

  The Martian Megapack

  The Andre Norton Megapack

  The Pinocchio Megapack

  The H. Beam Piper Megapack

  The Pulp Fiction Megapack

  The Randall Garrett Megapack

  The Second Randall Garrett Megapack

  The Mack Reynolds Megapack

  The First Science Fiction Megapack

  The Second Science Fiction Megapack

  The Third Science Fiction Megapack

  The Fourth Science Fiction Megapack

  The Fifth Science Fiction Megapack

  The Sixth Science Fiction Megapack

  The Seventh Science Fiction Megapack

  The Robert Sheckley Megapack

  The Steampunk Megapack

  The Time Travel Megapack

  The Vampire Megapack

  The Werewolf Megapack

  The Wizard of Oz Megapack

  HORROR

  The Achmed Abdullah Megapack

  The E.F. Benson Megapack

  The Second E.F. Benson Megapack

  The Cthulhu Mythos Megapack

  The Ghost Story Megapack

  The Second Ghost Story Megapack

  The Third Ghost Story Megapack

  The Horror Megapack

  The M.R. James Megapack

  The Macabre Megapack

  The Second Macabre Megapack

  The Mummy Megapack

  MYSTERY

  The Achmed Abdullah Megapack

  The Charlie Chan Megapack (not available in the U.S.)

  The Craig Kennedy Scientific Detective Megapack

  The Detective Megapack

  The Father Brown Megapack

  The Jacques Futrelle Megapack

  The Dashiell Hammett Megapack

  The Mystery Megapack

  The Penny Parker Megapack

  The Pulp Fiction Megapack

  The Victorian Mystery Megapack

  The Wilkie Collins Megapack

  GENERAL INTEREST

  The Adventure Megapack

  The Baseball Megapack

  The Cat Megapack

  The Second Cat Megapack

  The Christmas Megapack

  The Second Christmas Megapack

  The Classic American Short Stories Megapack

  The Classic Humor Megapack

  The Dog Megapack

  The Military Megapack

  WESTERNS

  The B.M. Bower Megapack

  The Max Brand Megapack

  The Buffalo Bill Megapack

  The Cowboy Megapack

  The Zane Grey Megapack

  The Western Megapack

  The Second Western Megapack

  The Wizard of Oz Megapack

  YOUNG ADULT

  The Boys’ Adventure Megapack

  The Dan Carter, Cub Scout Megapack

  The G.A. Henty Megapack

  The Rover Boys Megapack

  The Tom Corbett, Space Cadet Megapack

  The Tom Swift Megapack

  AUTHOR MEGAPACKS

  The Achmed Abdullah Megapack

  The Edward Bellamy Megapack

  The B.M. Bower Megapack

  The E.F. Benson Megapack

  The Second E.F. Benson Megapack

  The Max Brand Megapack

  The First Reginald Bretnor Megapack

  The Wilkie Collins Megapack

  The Guy de Maupassant Megapack

  The Philip K. Dick Megapack

  The Jacques Futrelle Megapack

  The Randall Garrett Megapack

  The Anna Katharine Green Megapack

  The Zane Grey Megapack

  The Second Randall Garrett Megapack

  The Dashiell Hammett Megapack

  The M.R. James Megapack

  The Murray Leinster Megapack

  The Second Murray Leinster Megapack

  The George Barr McCutcheon Megapack

  The Talbot Mundy Megapack

  The Andre Norton Megapack

  The H. Beam Piper Megapack

  The Mack Reynolds Megapack

  The Rafael Sabatini Megapack

  The Saki Megapack

  The Robert Sheckley Megapack

  INTRODUCTION: A HORSE IS A HORSE…, by Robert Reginald

  The horse has been championed throughout history as a war machine (both armored and as an adjunct to a fast-moving cavalry force), a means of transport (of both men and goods), a source of popular entertainment (racing, performing, and being displayed at shows), an adjunct to farming (plowing and hauling), and, finally, as a true friend and companion. When the American cowboy had no one else with whom he could talk on those long, lonely stretches riding fence, chasing outlaws, or just getting from one place to another in the Old West, he could always find comfort with his true-blue steed, his faithful mount.

  So it’s no surprise that writers throughout history have featured the horse prominently in their fiction. Here are twenty-five stories and five poems, including such works as: “Black Beauty,” by Anna Sewell, the quintessential story of a horse’s life; “The Man from Snowy River,” the first of a series of poems by A. B. Paterson; “Gulliver’s Travels: A Voyage to the Country of the Houyhnhnms,” Jonathan Swift’s mordant dissection of human society through the eyes of intelligent, talking horses; and “A Horse’s Tale,” by Mark Twain, another classic of equine literature.

  Speaking of classics, Ambrose Bierce’s “A Horseman in the Sky” provides us with a gripping glimpse of the American Civil War—and of the role of the soldier’s horse therein; “He Walked Around the Horses,” by H. Beam Piper, is an alternate history of Europe occasioned by an encounter with…a horse; the chilling horror classic, “The Horse of the Invisible,” by William Hope Hodgson, is part of his Carnacki the Ghost-Finder series. Among modern writers, Mark E. Burgess relates “My F
irst Horse Surgery,” and Mary Wickizer Burgess contributes the poignant “Heart Bar Johnny.” We even have a Sherlock Holmes mystery!

  There’s something here for every lover of our equine cousins. And I’m happy to say that there’ll be a SECOND HORSE MEGAPACK!

  —Robert Reginald & Mary Wickizer Burgess, 3 August 2013

  BLACK BEAUTY, by Anna Sewell

  PART I

  1. My Early Home

  The first place that I can well remember was a large pleasant meadow with a pond of clear water in it. Some shady trees leaned over it, and rushes and water-lilies grew at the deep end. Over the hedge on one side we looked into a plowed field, and on the other we looked over a gate at our master’s house, which stood by the roadside; at the top of the meadow was a grove of fir trees, and at the bottom a running brook overhung by a steep bank.

  While I was young I lived upon my mother’s milk, as I could not eat grass. In the daytime I ran by her side, and at night I lay down close by her. When it was hot we used to stand by the pond in the shade of the trees, and when it was cold we had a nice warm shed near the grove.

  As soon as I was old enough to eat grass my mother used to go out to work in the daytime, and come back in the evening.

  There were six young colts in the meadow besides me; they were older than I was; some were nearly as large as grown-up horses. I used to run with them, and had great fun; we used to gallop all together round and round the field as hard as we could go. Sometimes we had rather rough play, for they would frequently bite and kick as well as gallop.

  One day, when there was a good deal of kicking, my mother whinnied to me to come to her, and then she said:

  “I wish you to pay attention to what I am going to say to you. The colts who live here are very good colts, but they are cart-horse colts, and of course they have not learned manners. You have been well-bred and well-born; your father has a great name in these parts, and your grandfather won the cup two years at the Newmarket races; your grandmother had the sweetest temper of any horse I ever knew, and I think you have never seen me kick or bite. I hope you will grow up gentle and good, and never learn bad ways; do your work with a good will, lift your feet up well when you trot, and never bite or kick even in play.”

  I have never forgotten my mother’s advice; I knew she was a wise old horse, and our master thought a great deal of her. Her name was Duchess, but he often called her Pet.

  Our master was a good, kind man. He gave us good food, good lodging, and kind words; he spoke as kindly to us as he did to his little children. We were all fond of him, and my mother loved him very much. When she saw him at the gate she would neigh with joy, and trot up to him. He would pat and stroke her and say, “Well, old Pet, and how is your little Darkie?” I was a dull black, so he called me Darkie; then he would give me a piece of bread, which was very good, and sometimes he brought a carrot for my mother. All the horses would come to him, but I think we were his favorites. My mother always took him to the town on a market day in a light gig.

  There was a plowboy, Dick, who sometimes came into our field to pluck blackberries from the hedge. When he had eaten all he wanted he would have what he called fun with the colts, throwing stones and sticks at them to make them gallop. We did not much mind him, for we could gallop off; but sometimes a stone would hit and hurt us.

  One day he was at this game, and did not know that the master was in the next field; but he was there, watching what was going on; over the hedge he jumped in a snap, and catching Dick by the arm, he gave him such a box on the ear as made him roar with the pain and surprise. As soon as we saw the master we trotted up nearer to see what went on.

  “Bad boy!” he said, “bad boy! To chase the colts. This is not the first time, nor the second, but it shall be the last. There—take your money and go home; I shall not want you on my farm again.” So we never saw Dick any more. Old Daniel, the man who looked after the horses, was just as gentle as our master, so we were well off.

  2. The Hunt

  Before I was two years old a circumstance happened which I have never forgotten. It was early in the spring; there had been a little frost in the night, and a light mist still hung over the woods and meadows. I and the other colts were feeding at the lower part of the field when we heard, quite in the distance, what sounded like the cry of dogs. The oldest of the colts raised his head, pricked his ears, and said, “There are the hounds!” and immediately cantered off, followed by the rest of us to the upper part of the field, where we could look over the hedge and see several fields beyond. My mother and an old riding horse of our master’s were also standing near, and seemed to know all about it.

  “They have found a hare,” said my mother, “and if they come this way we shall see the hunt.”

  And soon the dogs were all tearing down the field of young wheat next to ours. I never heard such a noise as they made. They did not bark, nor howl, nor whine, but kept on a “Yo! Yo, o, o! Yo! Yo, o, o!” at the top of their voices. After them came a number of men on horseback, some of them in green coats, all galloping as fast as they could. The old horse snorted and looked eagerly after them, and we young colts wanted to be galloping with them, but they were soon away into the fields lower down; here it seemed as if they had come to a stand; the dogs left off barking, and ran about every way with their noses to the ground.

  “They have lost the scent,” said the old horse; “perhaps the hare will get off.”

  “What hare?” I said.

  “Oh! I don’t know what hare; likely enough it may be one of our own hares out of the woods; any hare they can find will do for the dogs and men to run after;” and before long the dogs began their “Yo! Yo, o, o!” again, and back they came altogether at full speed, making straight for our meadow at the part where the high bank and hedge overhang the brook.

  “Now we shall see the hare,” said my mother; and just then a hare wild with fright rushed by and made for the woods. On came the dogs; they burst over the bank, leaped the stream, and came dashing across the field followed by the huntsmen. Six or eight men leaped their horses clean over, close upon the dogs. The hare tried to get through the fence; it was too thick, and she turned sharp round to make for the road, but it was too late; the dogs were upon her with their wild cries; we heard one shriek, and that was the end of her. One of the huntsmen rode up and whipped off the dogs, who would soon have torn her to pieces. He held her up by the leg torn and bleeding, and all the gentlemen seemed well pleased.

  As for me, I was so astonished that I did not at first see what was going on by the brook; but when I did look there was a sad sight; two fine horses were down, one was struggling in the stream, and the other was groaning on the grass. One of the riders was getting out of the water covered with mud, the other lay quite still.

  “His neck is broke,” said my mother.

  “And serve him right, too,” said one of the colts.

  I thought the same, but my mother did not join with us.

  “Well, no,” she said, “you must not say that; but though I am an old horse, and have seen and heard a great deal, I never yet could make out why men are so fond of this sport; they often hurt themselves, often spoil good horses, and tear up the fields, and all for a hare or a fox, or a stag, that they could get more easily some other way; but we are only horses, and don’t know.”

  While my mother was saying this we stood and looked on. Many of the riders had gone to the young man; but my master, who had been watching what was going on, was the first to raise him. His head fell back and his arms hung down, and everyone looked very serious. There was no noise now; even the dogs were quiet, and seemed to know that something was wrong. They carried him to our master’s house. I heard afterward that it was young George Gordon, the squire’s only son, a fine, tall young man, and the pride of his family.

  There was now riding off in all directions to the doctor’s, to the farrier’s, and no doubt to Squire Gordon’s, to let him know about his son. When Mr. Bond, the farrier, came to look at the black horse that lay groaning on the grass, he felt him all over, and shook his head; one of his legs was broken. Then someone ran to our master’s house and came back with a gun; presently there was a loud bang and a dreadful shriek, and then all was still; the black horse moved no more.

  My mother seemed much troubled; she said she had known that horse for years, and that his name was “Rob Roy”; he was a good horse, and there was no vice in him. She never would go to that part of the field afterward.