In writing this work I feel it my duty to say something about the horse, an animal, beyond all question or doubt, a helpmate of man in his many avocations of life. The horse is shamefully abused, and without cause in many instances, and he who mistreats a horse or any dumb animal without cause or provocation, is inhuman, and should be chastised to teach him the fact that a horse cannot reason, and a man can, and that cruelty is the offspring of a mean person. When a man is riding a horse he should always remember that a horse has to walk and carry him too. A man that will mistreat his horse will also mistreat his wife and children. The wild Indians have an instinctive kindness for their horses and their dogs. Men should remember that a horse has an appetite, and a body made of flesh and bone, nerves and blood, and can feel as well as man, and needs shelter and care.

Poor care makes poor horses. Good care, and good and plenty of feed, will make what may be thought to be a poor horse a fine one, that is fit for the race track, fine carriage or hack. Many farmers will starve their horses for the sake of gain; feeding them a scanty feed once a day and a small wisp of hay. Such miserly scoundrels ought to be hung or banished to some lone island, where they would only get a gill of meal a day till they are taught the fact that man owes a duty to his horse as well as a duty to his God. The horse is a gift of God to a man, and should be appreciated and properly treated. There are quack blacksmiths as well as quack doctors and pettifogging lawyers, who think they know, and have chewed so much tobacco that heart disease has ensued, who have made it a practice through life to play the part of a parasite by living off the proceeds of a brother's hard earnings.

There is a horse hygiene as well as a human one: there is a horse physiology as well as a human physiology, and all good men know this is a fact. I have seen men plow horses all day when they would stagger under the harness for the want of feed, and at the same time their crib was full of corn. I once knew a man who was a thief and a miser, who would work his horses from sun-up till sun down, and feed them a little morning and night, and at the same time had plenty of corn in his crib. When he was filling his stomach with what his brutish nature demanded. I would steal from his crib a bountiful feed of corn in his crib. When he was filling his stomach with what his brutish nature demanded, I would steal from his crib a bountiful feed of corn and give it to the poor tired hungry horses. They would nicker so thankful when they saw it coming, and would eat cobs and all. In a short time the man made the remark that his horses were looking better, and he was not obliged to whip and holloa at them so much. This man belonged to the Methodist church and professed religion; but ye shall know a tree by its fruit, stole from a fool hypocrite, and he stole from his poor dumb horses. Who did wrong, and who did right? Every man should feed his horses as often as he does himself when at work and at rest. A man owes a duty to every animal under his control, and the horse in special. I will now give you a few Indians ideas of how to take care of horses. They pride themselves in taking good care of all their pets, and I would to God it was the case with the white man. The Indian, when he feeds his horse always feeds him on the gound, that is, he places his feed so that he is obliged to hold his head down in order to get it. The wild horse has to get all his food with his head down. It is natural. When a horse eats with his head down the flow of saliva or slobber is more free, which is strictly essential to be thoroughly mingled with the food in order to help digestion. The Indian blankets his horse either with buckskin or buffalo robes. Now many a white man lets his horses shiver in the cold on cold bleak winter nights, all the winter through, and the result is, he is heir to many diseases that he would not be were he properly cared for. The Indians have no blacksmiths. Their instinctive nature has made each one a blacksmith within himself and a good one too. The Indian's horses hoof never was pared with a knife or seared with a red-hot iron shoe, which causes the hoof to rot and be filled with corns. We know it is a fact that they ride their horses hundreds of miles over the sandy plains, and we all know a sandy country will cut and wear the hoof of horses very rapidly. "The work of necessity is the mother of invention." Well, how would you suppose they do to grow a new hoof all the time, in place of putting on the iron shoe to save that which should be worn away and constantly made new. I will tell you, and there is good solid sense in the modus operandi. I will tell you what is the Indian's horse hoof grower, or what they shoe their horses with, instead of the iron shoe, -- a shoe made of the natural hoof. By this mode the horse is never pricked by the sharp nail driven by the careless blacksmith. They never have corns to make them limp and suffer pain. Now this fact that I am going to tell you is worth a great deal to every man that loves horses, and takes pride in seeing them have slick, glossy, sound, solid hoofs.  A man can have a clean face, neat finger nails, and everything neat if he tries. And every man that has nice horses, has a nice wife, and he makes her keep clean, as well as caring for his horses. In that respect, cleanliness is the next thing to Godliness. This holds good with all dumb brutes that are under our control as well as it does with ourselves and children. We have divine authority for saying that the horse is in heaven.

The Indian, in order to assist nature in replacing the horse's hoof as fast as it is worn away by travel, collects eggs of the various wild birds and takes the whites of them, which is pure albumen and very nutritious, and rubs it into the hoof where the hair and hoof come together, twice a day. This being pure albumen, promotes a healthy growth of the hoof, and the result is that it grows as fast as the travel wears it away. The hoof is slick, elastic and glossy. The white man, to keep his horse's hoof from becoming hard and flinty, does what is called packing them, that is, filling the cavity called the frog of the foot with eggs and meal mixed together, which is a very good plan; but try the Indian way for four months, and you will be convinced it is the best. The albumen is absorbed, and facilitates the growth of the hoof, and the result is the Indian needs no iron to shoe his glossy horse.

In this essay I will simply say that which will be of use in many cases where the knowledge is needed in a hurry, and the owner has not the time to go several miles for a horse doctor. Once my father had a fine horse. It broke out of the stable in the night, and got into the cornfield and ate a hearty meal of green roasting ears, and the result was a fearful case of colic. The horse swelled almost to bursting. Father sent far and near for men that claimed to understand how to treat horses when sick. They gave soda, hot salt water, pepper, and a great many other things. The general prognosis was that the horse would die. I happened there at the eleventh hour. I gave the horse four ounces of aloes dissolved in a quart of warm water, adding to it one-half pint of good whisky, and a dollar bottle full of the King of Pain, or J. I. Lighthall's Spanish Oil. I gave it all at one dose. The horse soon quit groaning, and in eight hours had a free action from the bowels of undigested green corn, and then the horse got up and went to nipping grass and made a good recovery. I pronounce it a sure cure for colic. In case you cannot get the Spanish Oil, Perry Davis' Pain Killer will answer, giving two of the twenty-five cent bottles at one dose.