“She’ll fall in a minute, mates, there will soon be an end of her,” said an admiring spectator in the crowd.

“She’s a tough one,” was shouted in the crowd.

And Mikolka swung the shaft a second time and it fell a second time on the spine of the luckless mare. She sank back on her haunches, but lurched forward and tugged forward with all her force, tugged first on one side and then on the other, trying to move the cart. But the six whips were attacking her in all…

“Thrash her, thrash her! Why have you stopped?” shouted voices in the crowd.

“It’s my property,” shouted Mikolka and brought the shaft down with a swinging blow. There was a sound of a heavy thud.

“He’ll crush her,” was shouted round him. “He’ll kill her!”

“I’ll teach you to kick,” Mikolka shouted ferociously. He threw down the whip, bent forward and picked up from the bottom of the cart a long, thick shaft, he took hold of one end with both hands and with an effort brandished it over the mare.

… He ran beside the mare, ran in front of her, saw her being whipped across the eyes, right in the eyes! He was crying, he felt choking, his tears were streaming. One of the men gave him a cut with the whip across the face, he did not feel it. Wringing his hands and screaming, he rushed up to the grey-headed old man…

“Give us a song, mates,” shouted someone in the cart and everyone in the cart joined in a riotous song, jingling a tambourine and whistling. The woman went on cracking nuts and laughing.

“Hit her in the face, in the eyes, in the eyes,” cried Mikolka.

Two lads in the crowd snatched up whips and ran to the mare to beat her about the ribs. One ran each side.

All at once laughter broke into a roar and covered everything: the mare, roused by the shower of blows, began feebly kicking. Even the old man could not help smiling. To think of a wretched little beast like that trying to kick!

“Don’t meddle! It’s my property, I’ll do what I choose. Get in, more of you! Get in, all of you! I will have her go at a gallop!…”

“You’ll kill her,” shouted the third.

“Did anyone ever see the like? A wretched nag like that pulling such a cartload,” said another.

“What are you about, are you a Christian, you devil?” shouted an old man in the crowd.

“Beat her to death,” cried Mikolka, “it’s come to that. I’ll do for her!”

“Come along, come along!” said his father. “They are drunken and foolish, they are in fun; come away, don’t look!” and he tried to draw him away, but he tore himself away from his hand, and, beside himself with horror, ran to the horse. The poor beast was in a bad way. She was gasping, standing still, then tugging…

“Father, father,” he cried, “father, what are they doing? Father, they are beating the poor horse!”

“Get in, all get in,” cried Mikolka, “she will draw you all. I’ll beat her to death!” And he thrashed and thrashed at the mare, beside himself with fury.