The Peril Finders Part 95

"Come on, and don't talk," cried Chris, who had buckled on his belt and slung his rifle.

"It's enough to make any one talk," cried Ned. "But, I say, you said that the Indians shot at him till he was as full of arrows as a pincushion is full of pins."

"I didn't. I said he was wounded two or three times."

"All the same. He must be a wonderful beast. Just wait till I've had a look at him, and then I tell you what we'll do. We'll change."

"Will we?" cried Chris, through his set teeth. "Poor old fellow, I wouldn't part with him for the world. _Hff_!"

"What's the matter?"

"Oh, nothing much. I'm only stiff and bruised all over. Come on."

Chris limped a great deal, and suffered plenty of pain, but he got down the slope bravely, managing to step from stone to stone until the way down to the water was pa.s.sed and the two lads were hurrying across the verdant portion of the valley towards where the animals were browsing and grazing.

The mules just turned their heads to look at them in a surly, uncompromising fashion, and went on feeding again, but as soon as they were pa.s.sed and the lads approached the ponies, Chris raised his voice, uttering a kind of bird-call, when the effect upon the little herd was immediate: all turned their heads, and Chris's mount uttered a shrill whinnying sound, before advancing to meet him, going, however, very stiffly on three legs, and as they approached looking as if it had suffered badly enough for anything that claimed to be alive.

"My word, he has had it warmly," cried Ned. "Poor old chap, he's been in the wars, and no mistake!"

The animal limped badly, and so did Chris, as they came within touch, when the pony thrust forward its muzzle in response to its master's extended hand, and then dropped its head and looked dejected in the extreme, but blinked and whinnied again as it felt itself caressed.

"My old beauty! My brave old chap!" cried Chris huskily. "Oh, look here, Ned! A broken arrow sticking in him still."

"Why, there's another on this side," cried Ned, "and a cut or a scratch--no, it's too bad for a scratch--there in his flank."

"He's cut here too, in the forehead. Oh, Ned, however did he manage to struggle back?"

"Oh, never mind about that. Let's have the heads of these arrows out first thing."

"Yes; they must be ready to fester in the wounds. No, we mustn't do it; they want cutting out with a proper knife. Look here, Ned; jump on your pony and go and find father. He'd like to dress the wounds himself."

"No need," said Ned sharply, as a distant whistle rang out; "here they come."

The whistle was answered, and a few minutes later the doctor and Wilton came into sight, saw the lads, and joined them.

"What's the matter?" cried the doctor hurriedly. "Another pony hurt?-- What!--Impossible!--Oh, the poor beast! The brave fellow! I can hardly believe it. Here, let's lead him gently across, and I'll see what I can do. Has he just crawled back?"

"No, father; he must have come in the night," cried Chris. "We only just found that he was here."

"We didn't look at them before we went off this morning," said Wilton.

"No, and I remember I reproached myself once for not doing so. But there, we're giving all our sympathy to the pony. How are you, Chris, my boy?"

"All right now, father," was the reply. "Seeing this poor fellow has made me forget my bruises."

"But you are the better for your long sleep?"

"Yes, father; only a bit ashamed."

"Never mind that.--Tut, tut, tut!" continued the doctor. "Lame in the off fore-foot. Some horrible wrench; cut in the flank. Why, he has three arrows in him," continued the doctor, as he examined the poor beast while it limped along patiently by their side.

"But he'll get better, father?" cried Chris excitedly.

"I hope so, my boy; but I am not a veterinary surgeon. Depend upon it, though, that I shall do my best."

The pony followed them like a dog, holding out its muzzle to Chris from time to time, and uttering as soon as he was caressed a piteous sigh.

But he did not wince till they were close up to the slope, where the doctor asked for bucket, water, and sponge, and began his attentions, with Chris's help, to the suffering, badly-injured beast.

CHAPTER FORTY SIX.

A PATIENT PATIENT.

"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 pa.s.sed 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.