The squire stopped short, for there was a piteous whinny from the stable again.
“There, father! and old Billy’s got something the matter with him too,” cried Dick eagerly, the bull endorsing his statement with a melancholy bellow.
“Why, there is something wrong, then, my boys!” said the squire, angry now with himself for suspecting them of playing some prank. “Here, let’s go down.”
He led the way directly, and lit a lantern in the kitchen before throwing back the bolts and going out, armed with a big stick, the boys following close behind, and feeling somewhat awe-stricken at the strangeness of the proceedings.
“Hullo, my lads, what is it then?” cried the squire, entering the rough stable, where three horses were fastened up, and all half lying in the straw.
One of them turned to him with a piteous whinny, and then the great soft eyes of all three of the patient beasts were turned toward them, the light gleaming upon their eyes strangely.
“Why, what’s this?” cried the squire, holding down the lantern, whose light fell upon the hocks of the poor beasts. “Oh, it’s too cruel! what savage has done this!”
As he held down the light the boys hardly realised what had happened. All they could make out was that the light gleamed horribly on the horses’ hind-legs, and Dick exclaimed:
“Why, they must have been kicking, father, terribly!”
“Kicking, my boy!” groaned the squire. “I wish they had kicked the monster to death who has done this.”