CHAPTER FORTY SIX.
A PATIENT PATIENT.
"I wonder you are both alive," said the doctor gravely, as he began tomake a careful examination of the mustang. "The height of those cliffsis far greater than I expected."
Chris's eyes danced with glee, for he was beginning more and more toforget his injuries in his delight at recovering his pony.
"But we only fell a bit at a time, father," he said merrily.
"I suppose not," said the doctor dryly. "But now, can you help me alittle, or are you too full of aches and pains?"
"You mean with the pony, father? Oh yes, I'm going to help. He'll beso much quieter if I stand with him."
"That's what I thought, for I don't want to have to throw the poorbeast; he must be sore enough as it is. Stand forward, and be on yourguard."
"Yes," said Chris quietly, "but I never thought of it before: his saddleand bridle are both gone."
"I wonder, his skin hasn't gone too," said Wilton. "But you had betterget a good strong bridle on him again, doctor."
"We'll see. He'll soon show whether he will bear what I do, or showfight. Be on your guard, Chris, for bites and kicks."
"He won't bite or kick me, father," cried the boy resentfully.
"Not now, my boy, but I'm thinking about when I'm taking out thosearrows. I must cut.--Let's see."
The doctor patted the poor animal on the neck, talking to himcaressingly, and then passed his hand along slowly till his fingerspressed the spot where about an inch of one of the broken arrows stoodout of the shoulder.
At the first touch the pony winced, giving a sharp twitch, making theskin crinkle up together; and he raised one hoof and stamped itimpatiently, but he showed no disposition to bite.
"I believe he'll stand it," said the doctor, examining the wound. "It'sbeginning to fester already, and I dare say the cutting will give asmuch relief as pain."
"It's risky to chance it, doctor," said Wilton.
"No, I think not," was the reply. "I don't give animals the credit formuch sense, but the poor beast knows us, and he may have enough to beaware that we are trying to do him good."
As the doctor spoke he opened his leather case of instruments, and tookout a curved, hook-like knife and a pair of strong forceps.
"Water and sponge all ready? That's right. Now then, we shall soonknow. Stand in front of his head, Chris."
Then as soon as the boy was where he was directed to stand, stroking thepoor beast's nose, the doctor took hold of the broken shaft with theforceps, made sure of the position of the flattened arrowhead, and thenpassing the curved knife down by its side, made one firm cut through theskin and muscle, and the next moment the withdrawn arrow was thrown onthe stones at their feet.
"Brave boy!" said the doctor loudly. "Why, he hardly winced. Now forthe sponge and water. That's right," and he bathed and pressed thebleeding wound thoroughly. "There," he said; "I believe the poor brutereally does understand. Let that bleed a little; it will help it toheal better. Now for the next."
This was a very different injury, for plainly enough to be seen justbeneath the skin there lay fully six inches of a broken arrow.
The doctor passed his hand over this, and the pony shivered a little;but it was only a very superficial flinch, and the doctor changed hisknife for another lying in the leather case.
"Poor old fellow," he said. "I believe I could do anything to him. Hemust understand."
The two boys watched everything intently, and noted that the operatorpinched up the skin and arrow together; then starting from the orificewhere the missile had entered he drew the keen point along the shafttill it grated on the barbed head, dividing the skin cleanly the wholelength of the arrow, which required no forceps to remove it, for itdropped down of its own weight.
"Why, Chris," cried the doctor, "you couldn't have borne this sopatiently.--Now, hold up the bucket, Ned. That's the way. I dare saythe sponging feels comforting and takes off the itching."
"But ought it to bleed, father?" asked Chris.
"No, no. The injury is only to the skin. There's very little harmdone."
The third wound was far worse, and to get out the arrowhead the doctorhad to cut deeply, with the result that the equine patient stampedangrily and whinnied and shook his head. But he stood firm, making noattempt to kick or bite, and as soon as the wound was being bathed,stood blinking and evidently enjoying having its muzzle smoothed.
Then came the long cut or tear on the poor brute's flank, an injury sotender that he winced and shivered at the slightest touch. But therewas no cutting here, nothing but bathing and cleansing the placethoroughly, before the skin was drawn together by means of pins passedthrough the edges and waxed silk wound round and round from head topoint of the little pins. The skin of the other injuries was closed inthe same way, and then the doctor made a fresh examination of the pooranimal's sprain.
"I can do nothing here," he said. "Nature will put that right. There,Chris, lead him back to the others, and let him graze and forget histroubles if he can."
No leading was required, the pony following his master like a dog backto the pasture, where he began grazing for a few moments, before turningup his head to whinny loudly, and then lie down in the thick grass,stretching out legs and head, extended upon the flank.
"Why, Chris," cried Ned, "he's fainting!"
"Or something worse," cried Chris anxiously, as he sank stiffly upon hisknees behind the mustang's head and laid his hand upon the neck.
"No, he's all right," cried Ned eagerly, for the pony on feeling thetouch of his master's hand and hearing his voice, raised his muzzle,looked at him, and let it sink down again.
"Poor old fellow," said Chris softly, and he stayed there kneeling andtalking quietly to the injured animal, till a shout from the terracerecalled them back.
Chris gave the soft neck another pat or two, and limped off with hiscompanion.
"I do hope he's not going to die, Ned," he said, and he looked back whenthey had passed the mules, to have the satisfaction of seeing the ponymake an effort to rise, without avail, but on the second trial he stoodup with his legs far apart, gave himself a shake, and then lowered hishead to begin biting feebly at the grass.
"Think he'll get over it, father?" said Chris, as he reached theirstronghold.
"Oh yes. The injuries are not deep; but I'm rather afraid of thatstrain. He may go lame; but we shall see. I called you because I wantyou to keep out of the sun. Lie down in the shade and rest."
"I don't feel anything much the matter now, father."
"Perhaps not, my boy," said the doctor quietly, "but I want you to bebetter still to-morrow, not worse."
Chris, though he did not feel much the matter, to quote his own words,was fully conscious of being a good deal shaken, and when he lay downupon the rough bed of sage-brush covered with a blanket, the attitudewas very pleasant to his aching limbs, and he soon began to feel that itwas very restful to lie there watching the sides of the valley andmaking believe to keep a lookout for Indians.
The evening closed in, however, without any sign of the enemy, and soonafter the lad had to listen to the congratulations of Bourne and Griggs,who brought in a pleasant addition to the stores in the shape of thegrouse-like birds which came down from the tableland in coveys to get atthe water which had been Chris's guide to the bottom of the valley.
"A fine bit of luck that, squire," said Griggs, "getting the mustangback. I was surprised."
"Have you been to see him?" asked Chris anxiously.
"Oh yes; I went as soon as I heard."
"What do you think of him?"
"Regular cripple," said Griggs, in his uncompromising way.
"But you think he'll get better?"
"Well, I hope so, but horses are ticklish things, and you never knowwhat comes of a sprain or strain. I hope he'll come round, but I havemy doubts about his being quite sound again."
As soon as it was dark the ponies and mules were quietly dr
iven higherup the valley, so as to try and guard against any attempt to carry themoff in the night. Then watch was set, and before those not on dutysought their resting-places a little debate was held as to the nextsteps to be taken. But not much was said. Reference was however madeto Chris's mount and the possibility of his being fit to ride again atthe end of a few days.
"But, you see, everything depends on the Indians," said the doctor. "Wecan't leave here to have them hanging on our heels, ready to catch us ata disadvantage. I almost wish they'd attack us to-morrow or next day,to get severely punished and so discouraged that they'd be off and leaveus alone."
"Don't you think they'd come back to revenge themselves?" said Chris."They must feel very spiteful even now, father."
"Yes, but an Indian is very fond of his life, my boy, and only likes toattack when he feels pretty sure of securing plunder. Now he is notlikely to get much here, for any attempt made upon our cattle is boundto result in failure."
"But suppose they attacked in the night?" said Chris.
"I don't think these people would do that, my boy. They are horseIndians--Apaches, I fancy, and they like to fight as mounted men, sothat they can dash in or gallop away. But come, you've talked too muchalready. Lie down and go to sleep. We're pretty safe here in ourstronghold; water is plentiful; and it seems as if we have only to goand lie up near that spring to get as many birds as we want. Now then,sleep. I want rest badly, for I've had a long day and quite as muchanxiety as is good for any one man."
Chris thought the same as he lay there, rather sleepless now, after solong an indulgence; and he thought a good deal too as he gazed upthrough the window-opening at the great stars, a little feverish andworried about his part in the adventures.
"Could I have done any better than I did?" kept coming as a questionwhich remained unanswered when he dropped off to sleep, to begindreaming about the reproachful eyes of his pony for a time. Then allwas blank.
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