Chapter III

It seemed as though Perley would never come to my aid. But alas! how cold and unkind was his manner when he finally stood beside me!

With a cross, impatient jerk he drew the bridle from the rail, and pulled me along, not stopping to mount as usual. For this, however, I was thankful as my knee ached so it would have been hard to have borne him. He did not go along the usual road, but branched off toward a piece of woods lying between Greenpoint and Emsted, the next station.

What was he about to do? The forbidding expression of his face boded no good for poor pony being led through this forest path. Not one word had he spoken thus far since leaving the auto grounds, only had paced along in sullen silence, now and then jerking at the rein. But he was my master, my keeper, and I could but follow where he led; then an unavoidable stumble made me long for a bit of sympathy, until stretching my long neck, I rested my chin for an instant on his sturdy shoulder.

“Get away there, you dunce!” he cried, tossing me aside with such a violent motion that I kept as far from him as possible.

In a secluded corner he fastened me securely.

“There!” he cried defiantly, “stay where you are until you can learn to stand upon your feet instead of getting down on your knees just before the end of a race. When I get ready I’ll come for you.” And off he strode.

At the farm I had heard all kinds of stories about the treatment of animals at the hands of masters good and bad. Among others, I had heard how some men would stop right where they were with a stubborn horse, unharness, and tie him to the nearest tree, there leaving him all day and perhaps all night without food or water.

Well, perhaps a horse or pony would deserve to be left alone and kept hungry and thirsty who through willfulness or ill temper refused to do a master’s bidding.

But there was I, a faithful pony, if I do say it, always willing and obedient, because of an accident which I could in no way prevent, condemned to be left for hours without food or water, and without greatly needed care.

What right-minded person would not cry shame on the ungrateful boy, willing to so misuse me!

I gave one prolonged, pleading whinny as Perley marched away. He took no notice of it and was soon out of sight. Had he noticed that I limped as he led me along? He probably had as he did not mount as usual, but was too much maddened to appear either to notice or care.

The hot June sun filtered through the trees, but a soft breeze fanned and helped me. If I only could have lain down, it would have been great relief. But the bridle was fastened tightly to a branch on a level with my head, and either lying down or cropping grass was an impossibility.

It was an hour before noon when Perley left me. A far away clock had struck four in the afternoon before anyone passed through the woods. I was truly to be pitied. My mouth was parched after the hard run. I was hungry, as my breakfast had been an early and hurried one. My knee by this time felt about three times as large as it really was. It was particularly wearisome holding up my head as I was obliged to, and all my pony-being was silently crying for relief.

All at once I pricked an upright ear. A sound of whistling came from afar. Gradually it came nearer. My ears are keen and can distinguish between sounds even at a distance. I soon knew it was quite a young boy who was approaching, one who had not whistled very long.

Sure enough; pacing through the woods, his hands in the pockets of his short trousers, a little old polo cap on his head, came a boy eleven or twelve years of age. His sunny hair fluffed around his forehead scarcely concealed by the cap on the back of his head, the gay tune he was attempting going well with the bright, boyish face and careless stride.

He was passing me by, seeing nothing of the poor pony hidden by rank bushes taller than he. I could not see him go. A long, shrill whinny made him look around in surprise. Another instant brought him to my side. His voice, the gentle, caressing voice of a dear, tender-hearted laddie, was like music and healing to my ears.

“Why, hossy!” he began, his dark eyes running me over with not altogether unpractised an air, “How came you here, your head strapped up in that style, your eyes heavy for this time o’ day? Bless us, but you’re tired! Been running?”

He was passing a hand swiftly over me as he talked, and I stood with one leg uplifted, for my knee was aching with dull thuds.

“Ha!” he cried suddenly, “what’s this? What’s got your knee, hossy? Looks to me as if you’d been used pretty hard. Come here, now.”

With deft fingers he unfastened the stout rein, letting down my tired head. Then he led me across to where a large rock high enough for him to seat himself comfortably, enabled him to look me over more thoroughly.

“Thirsty?” he asked.

I whinnied and stretched my head toward the kind hands.

“You come with me,” he said again.

“Lame, aren’t you? Well, you’re too fine a little fellow to get the treatment somebody’s given you. Jinks! but I wish you was my little hossy, wouldn’t you get the care though!”

He smiled a bit ruefully and added: “Between you and me, pony dear, I don’t get just the care myself I might have. But never mind! I’m going to take care of myself before long, then I’ll have a better chance perhaps. May have a fine little hossy of my own some day, who knows? Now drink.”

He had been slowly leading me along a foot path I had never trodden before, and all at once before my half-closed eyes gleamed the clear water of a spring,—oh, gladsome sight! I drank and drank as if never to be satisfied. Then I cropped the sweet, fresh grass growing all around the green glade.

“You’re tired and hungry and hurt,” said the boy; “chomp away there until you’re satisfied, then let’s see what ails that puffy leg.”

After satisfying my hunger, I felt overcome with fatigue, but on dropping to my knees, I whinnied with pain, then stretched my left leg straight along the grass. This gave the boy a good opportunity to examine it closely.

“Jinks!” he exclaimed, “you’ve got a sprain there that’s got to be looked after, or first thing you know, you’ll have a stiff joint, then—they won’t want you long.”

He felt all around, pressing gently the swelling, and peering close as if attempting to discover the cause of the wound. Then he looked into my mouth, quite with the air of an experienced little jockey. He seemed puzzled and began whistling as if to help out his thoughts. Then he said a queer thing:—

“Hossy, I don’t believe I should think much of your master, and I’d like to know you, if I should see you again.”

He got up and went over to the spring. In a moment back he came, his rather doubtful looking handkerchief sopped full of water. Oh, but it felt good, that cool, refreshing, helpful rag, bound far as it would go about my inflamed knee. I lifted my heavy eyes in dumb, yet I hoped, expressive gratitude to his face.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he said. “Well, let’s have it again.”

Four times he went to and fro, kind, bonnie, willing, pressing cooling water against the hurt knee, already less painful as the wet, healing bit of cloth was applied.

It was past five o’clock when tramping feet were heard, coming briskly through the woods, and at a little distance Perley Bolt began looking for a vanished pony. In a few moments he came into view when my sunny young friend called out,

“Hulloo there! Looking for an injured hossy?”

Perley came over in hot haste. “What you doing with my pony?” he asked, neither his voice nor manner those of a young gentleman.

But he of the sunny hair was not afraid. He began,

“I found this pretty pony in anything but a pretty fix. He was starved, parched and his head tied up so high he couldn’t rest neck or limb. Worst of all, he’s got a sprain that if you don’t liniment or salve pretty freely when you get him home, he’ll have a knee stick stiff, then let’s see you drive or ride pretty hossy any more.”

“I’m able to take care of my own pony,” was the haughty reply. “He went back on me at a race this morning. I tied him up as a punishment for his clumsiness, pitching into a hole, and losing me the victory of having the fastest pony in town. He might have looked where he was going and not disappointed me so! Have you let him feed?”

“Yes,” the boy answered brightly, “I let him crop grass and watered him. I tied up his leg too.”

“Well, he won’t get anything more to-night,” snarled Perley. “As to his knee, Phil at the stable can see about that.”

I knew the kind boy watched as Perley urged me to my feet and led me away. I tried at the last moment to look my gratitude, and hoped my young friend understood. At the edge of the woods Perley mounted me, but I had to limp so badly he soon took to leading me again. He gave directions to Phil not to feed me, but to see what my knee might need. As he went toward the house, Phil, a great-hearted, characteristic Scotchman, muttered:—

“Hoot! an it’s mesel will feed Meester Dexter all he desarves. Plenty o’ water the laddie will get too. An’ ye may think yersel lucky, Meester Perley, if the braw leetle beastie gets oot o’ this wi’ a whole knee, th’ foolish lad thet ye are! Cross an’ cranky because the bit o’ a horse treeped into a hole, like as ye’d done yersel, had ye coom upon it, wi’ your eyes feexed on a pole!”