Suddenly a great commotion arose. One of the big horses, which was always ugly, got perfectly wild, from the bites of horse-flies, it was afterward thought, and began kicking furiously right and left, plunging and rearing till the frightened men could not hold him. Poor little Alexander the Great was being groomed and harnessed for the ring; as the maddened horse broke loose, pony and groom were kicked by those great, heavy hoofs, till the life was almost crushed out of both of them.
In the confusion, after the horse was secured, nobody noticed poor little Alexander, who lay moaning and quivering in agony. The man beside him was lifted and taken away, and then somebody bent over the pony.
“He’s done for, poor little fellow,” the man said, pityingly. “I’ll put him out of his misery,” and he drew a pistol.
Then Mike came forward. “Don’t shoot him yit. Lemme look at the loikes of ’im.”
Mike was a born horse-doctor, and to his practised eye the pony was not so seriously hurt but that there was hope of saving him.
“Will you let me have him?” he asked, after feeling the pony all over very carefully. “He’ll take a sight o’ doctorin’, ’n’ he won’t be no good in a cirkis agin.”
“Take him, and welcome,” the manager said, hastily. “We’ve no time for sick horses,” and he swore again at the horse who had done all the mischief.
So Mike got an old door, and one of the men helped him lift poor little suffering Alexander on it. Then he hired a cart somewhere, and so the pony came to Kayuna.
This had been about the first of May. The children were not allowed to see the new arrival for a week or two, for he was not a very pleasant object. His legs were bound up, and his poor sides were all covered with “splarsters,” as Zaidee announced once, in great excitement, when she had taken a stolen peep.
At last the little visitor was in a condition to be seen, for, thanks to Mike’s good care, he mended fast. The “splarsters” were taken off, though his legs were still in splints, and Mike groomed his shaggy, uneven coat as best he could.