"That worries me, old fellow," he admitted, with a troubled face. "It is something I can't understand."
He rode slowly back to the stable.
It was growing dark when he arrived at the stable. A strange man was standing outside as Frank rode up. The man looked keenly at the boy and the horse, and then, as the doors rolled open, followed into the stable.
"Horse is lame, eh?" he said, questioningly. "I didn't notice that when he went out. He wasn't lame then, was he?"
Frank paid not the least attention to this question. The man was a stranger, and the boy did not care to talk with him.
"I spotted that horse when yer rode out, young man," the stranger persisted. "Fine lookin' critter—just the kind I've been wantin' some time for a saddle horse. Whose critter is it?"
"Grody," said Frank, utterly ignoring the man, "I want you to see if you can tell what ails Nemo. He is lame in one of his hind feet. He was taken that way after I had been out a while. I think it possible there is something the matter with the way he is shod. Will you look after him without delay?"
"To be sure, sir—I'll not fail, sir," said Grody.