Little Warhorse 
All his life he had loved Dogs, but his sense 
of fair play was outraged. He could not get 
in, nor see in from where he was. He raced 
along the lane to the Haven, where he might 
get a good view, and arrived in time to see — 
Little Jack Warhorse with his half-masted ears 
limp into the Haven; and he realized at once 
that the man with the gun had missed, had hit 
the wrong runner, for there was the crowd at 
the Stand watching two men who were carrying 
a wounded Greyhound, while a veterinary sur- 
geon was ministering to another that was pant- 
ing on the ground. 
Mickey looked about, seized a little shipping- 
box, put it at the angle of the Haven, carefully 
drove the tired thing into it, closed the lid, 
then, with the box under his arm, he scaled the 
fence unseen in the confusion and was gone. 
‘It did n’t matter; he had lost his job any- 
way.’ He tramped away from the city. He 
took the train at the nearest station and tray- 
elled some hours, and now he was in Rabbit 
country again. ‘The sun had long gone down; 
the night with its stars was over the plain when 
among the farms, the Osage and alfalfa, Mickey 
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