"I wonder you are both alive," said the doctor gravely, as he began to
make a careful examination of the mustang. "The height of those cliffs
is far greater than I expected."
Chris's eyes danced with glee, for he was beginning more and more to
forget 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 a
little, or are you too full of aches and pains?"
"You mean with the pony, father? Oh yes, I'm going to help. He'll be
so much quieter if I stand with him."
"That's what I thought, for I don't want to have to throw the poor
beast; he must be sore enough as it is. Stand forward, and be on your
guard."
"Yes," said Chris quietly, "but I never thought of it before: his saddle
and bridle are both gone."
"I wonder, his skin hasn't gone too," said Wilton. "But you had better
get a good strong bridle on him again, doctor."
"We'll see. He'll soon show whether he will bear what I do, or show
fight. 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 those
arrows. I must cut.--Let's see."
The doctor patted the poor animal on the neck, talking to him
caressingly, and then passed his hand along slowly till his fingers
pressed the spot where about an inch of one of the broken arrows stood
out of the shoulder.
At the first touch the pony winced, giving a sharp twitch, making the
skin crinkle up together; and he raised one hoof and stamped it
impatiently, but he showed no disposition to bite.
"I believe he'll stand it," said the doctor, examining the wound. "It's
beginning to fester already, and I dare say the cutting will give as
much 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 for
much sense, but the poor beast knows us, and he may have enough to be
aware that we are trying to do him good."
As the doctor spoke he opened his leather case of instruments, and took
out a curved, hook-like knife and a pair of strong forceps.
"Water and sponge all ready? That's right. Now then, we shall soon
know. Stand in front of his head, Chris."
Then as soon as the boy was where he was directed to stand, stroking the
poor beast's nose, the doctor took hold of the broken shaft with the
forceps, made sure of the position of the flattened arrowhead, and then
passing the curved knife down by its side, made one firm cut through the
skin and muscle, and the next moment the withdrawn arrow was thrown on
the stones at their feet.
"Brave boy!" said the doctor loudly. "Why, he hardly winced. Now for
the sponge and water. That's right," and he bathed and pressed the
bleeding wound thoroughly. "There," he said; "I believe the poor brute
really does understand. Let that bleed a little; it will help it to
heal better. Now for the next."
This was a very different injury, for plainly enough to be seen just
beneath 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 his
knife for another lying in the leather case.
"Poor old fellow," he said. "I believe I could do anything to him. He
must understand."
The two boys watched everything intently, and noted that the operator
pinched up the skin and arrow together; then starting from the orifice
where the missile had entered he drew the keen point along the shaft
till it grated on the barbed head, dividing the skin cleanly the whole
length of the arrow, which required no forceps to remove it, for it
dropped down of its own weight.
"Why, Chris," cried the doctor, "you couldn't have borne this so
patiently.--Now, hold up the bucket, Ned. That's the way. I dare say
the 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 harm
done."
The third wound was far worse, and to get out the arrowhead the doctor
had to cut deeply, with the result that the equine patient stamped
angrily and whinnied and shook his head. But he stood firm, making no
attempt 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 so
tender that he winced and shivered at the slightest touch. But there
was no cutting here, nothing but bathing and cleansing the place
thoroughly, before the skin was drawn together by means of pins passed
through the edges and waxed silk wound round and round from head to
point of the little pins. The skin of the other injuries was closed in
the same way, and then the doctor made a fresh examination of the poor
animal'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 his
troubles if he can."
No leading was required, the pony following his master like a dog back
to the pasture, where he began grazing for a few moments, before turning
up 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 his
knees 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 the
touch 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 and
talking quietly to the injured animal, till a shout from the terrace
recalled them back.
Chris gave the soft neck another pat or two, and limped off with his
companion.
"I do hope he's not going to die, Ned," he said, and he looked back when
they had passed the mules, to have the satisfaction of seeing the pony
make an effort to rise, without avail, but on the second trial he stood
up with his legs far apart, gave himself a shake, and then lowered his
head to begin biting feebly at the grass.
"Think he'll get over it, father?" said Chris, as he reached their
stronghold.
"Oh yes. The injuries are not deep; but I'm rather afraid of that
strain. He may go lame; but we shall see. I called you because I want
you 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 be
better 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 down
upon the rough bed of sage-brush covered with a blanket, the attitude
was very pleasant to his aching limbs, and he soon began to feel that it
was very restful to lie there watching the sides of the valley and
making believe to keep a lookout for Indians.
The evening closed in, however, without any sign of the enemy, and soon
after 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 the
grouse-like birds which came down from the tableland in coveys to get at
the water which had been Chris's guide to the bottom of the valley.
"A fine bit of luck that, squire," said Griggs, "getting the mustang
back. 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 know
what comes of a sprain or strain. I hope he'll come round, but I have
my doubts about his being quite sound again."
As soon as it was dark the ponies and mules were quietly driven higher
up the valley, so as to try and guard against any attempt to carry them
off in the night. Then watch was set, and before those not on duty
sought their resting-places a little debate was held as to the next
steps to be taken. But not much was said. Reference was however made
to Chris's mount and the possibility of his being fit to ride again at
the end of a few days.
"But, you see, everything depends on the Indians," said the doctor. "We
can't leave here to have them hanging on our heels, ready to catch us at
a 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 leave
us 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 to
attack when he feels pretty sure of securing plunder. Now he is not
likely to get much here, for any attempt made upon our cattle is bound
to 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 horse
Indians--Apaches, I fancy, and they like to fight as mounted men, so
that they can dash in or gallop away. But come, you've talked too much
already. Lie down and go to sleep. We're pretty safe here in our
stronghold; water is plentiful; and it seems as if we have only to go
and 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 much
anxiety as is good for any one man."
Chris thought the same as he lay there, rather sleepless now, after so
long an indulgence; and he thought a good deal too as he gazed up
through the window-opening at the great stars, a little feverish and
worried about his part in the adventures.
"Could I have done any better than I did?" kept coming as a question
which remained unanswered when he dropped off to sleep, to begin
dreaming about the reproachful eyes of his pony for a time. Then all
was blank.