Then we galloped, side by side, for at least 10 or 12 miles. Little by
little my horse gave out and the last mile he made, Davy had to hold his
horse in to keep him from running away from me. Every time he tried to
catch my bridle I struck at his hand with my heavy revolver, and he soon
gave that up. I felt that the stallion could not last much longer, and
know I must do something to escape unearned disgrace. Now I am and
always was a mild man, full of pity for dumb animals, but necessity
forced me to do what I did. I played a trick I had learned out west. It
is called “creasing,” and is often used on wild horses. They shoot them
so the bullet just grazes the top of the neck. But it does not hurt the
horse. It just stuns him and in a few minutes he is as good as ever.
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白雨婷