As the car approached he seemed to suffer a painful shock.

He tossed his aged head, kicked viciously with his rear feet, stood absurdly aloft on them, then turned and fled from the monster.

As Merton mused upon the genius of the trainer who had taught his horse not only to betray fright at a motor car but to distinguish between rehearsals and the actual taking of a scene, he observed a man who emerged from a clump of near-by shrubbery.
He carried a shotgun.

This was broken at the breech and the man was blowing smoke from the barrels as he came on.
So that was it.

The panic of the old horse had been but a simple reaction to a couple of charges of--perhaps rock--salt.