He swore at me, and told me to take the whip and help him. We
tried for a little time, then I told him it was no use, they could never do
it. He swore louder and called to the leaders to come on with their whips,
and together they lashed. There was one ox, a black ox, so thin that the
ridge of his backbone almost cut through his flesh.
"'It is you, devil, is it, that will not pull?' the transport-rider said.
'I will show you something.' He looked like a devil.
"He told the boys to leave off flogging, and he held the ox by the horn,
and took up a round stone and knocked its nose with it till the blood came.
When he had done they called to the oxen and took up their whips again, and
the oxen strained with their backs bent, but the wagon did not move an
inch.
"'So you won't, won't you?' he said. I'll help you.'
"He took out his clasp-knife, and ran it into the leg of the trembling ox
three times, up to the hilt. Then he put the knife in his pocket, and they
took their whips. The oxen's flanks quivered, and they foamed at the
mouth. Straining, they moved the wagon a few feet forward, then stood with
bent backs to keep it from sliding back. From the black ox's nostrils foam
and blood were streaming on to the ground. It turned its head in its
anguish and looked at me with its great starting eyes.
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