ed
a smarter wallop with the reins. Dexter stood unmoved. He seemed to be
fearing that the worst was now coming, and that he might as well face
it on that spot as elsewhere. He remained deaf to threats and entreaties
alike. No hoof moved from its resting place.

"Giddap, there, you old Dexter Gashwiler!" ordered Metta, and was not
rebuked. But neither would Dexter yield to a woman's whim.

"I'll tell you!" said Merton, now contemptuous of his mount. "Get the
buggy whip and tickle his ribs."

Metta sped on his errand, her eyes shining with the lust for torture.
With the frayed end of the whip from the delivery wagon she lightly
scored the exposed ribs of Dexter, tormenting him with devilish cunning.
Dexter's hide shuttled back and forth. He whinnied protestingly, but did
not stir even one hoof.

"That's the idea," said Merton, feeling scornfully secure on the back of
this spiritless animal. "Keep it up! I can feel him coming to life."

Metta kept it up. Her woman's ingenuity contrived new little tricks with
the instrument of torture. She would doubtless have had a responsible
post with the Spanish Inquisition. Face set, absorbed in her evil work,
she tickled the ribs crosswise and tickled between them, up and down,
always with the artist's light touch.

Dexter's frame grew tense, his head came up. Once more he looked like
a horse. He had been brave to face destruction, but he found himself
unable to face being tickled to death. If only they had chosen some
other method for his execution he would have perished gamely, but this
was exquisitely poignant--beyond endurance. He tossed his head and
stepped into a trot toward the open gate.

Metta yelled in triumph. The rider tossed his own head in rhythm to
Dexter's trot. His whole body tossed in the saddle; it was a fearsome
pace; the sensations were like nothing he had ever dreamed of. And he
was so high above the good firm ground! Dexter continued his jolting
progress to the applause of Metta. The rider tried to command Metta to
keep still, and merely bit his tongue.

Stirred to life by the tickling, Dexter now became more acutely aware
of that strange, restless burden on his back, and was inspired to free
himself from it. He increased his pace as he came to the gate, and
managed a backward kick with both heels. This lost the rider his
stirrups and left him less securely seated than he wished to be. He
dropped the reins and grasped the saddle's pommel with both hand