The cracked
voice of Daddy John came from beyond the canvas hood and David's urgent
cries filled the air. The mules, necks outstretched, almost squatting
in the agony of their endeavor, held their ground, but could do no
more. Bess and Ben began to plunge in a welter of slapping harness as
the wheels ground slowly downward.
Susan watched, her neck craned, her eyes staring. Her sentimental
thoughts had vanished. She was one with the struggling men and beasts,
lending her vigor to theirs. Her eyes were on David, waiting to see
him dominate them like a general carrying his troops to victory. She
could see him, arms outstretched, haranguing his horses as if they were
human beings, but not using the whip. A burst of astonishing profanity
came from Leff and she heard him cry:
"Lay it on to 'em, David. What's the matter with you? Beat 'em like
hell."
The mule drivers used a long-lashed whip which could raise a welt on
the thickest hide. David flung the lash afar and brought it down on
Ben's back. The horse leaped as if he had been burned, jerking ahead
of his mate, and rearing in a madness of unaccustomed pain.
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