In spite of his intense desire to laugh, Jack saw that matters were really serious for his brother; and leaping off, he threw down his reins at his horse’s feet, whipped out his great hunting-knife, and proceeded to cut and hack away the thorns by which his brother and his horse were surrounded.
They were indeed like fish-hooks, and so sharp and strong, that once in amongst them no one could have escaped without having clothes and skin ploughed and torn in a terrible way.
Shoes stood perfectly still now. He snorted at times and twitched the skin of his withers, turning his great eyes appealingly to Jack, who plied his heavy sheath-knife so effectively that at last the mass of thorns was sufficiently hacked away to allow horse and rider to move.
Fortunately for Dick, he was a clever horseman. Had he ridden like some people, who hang a leg on each side of a horse and call that riding, he must have been thrown. For at the first touch to start him, Shoes was so eager to get out of the thorny torture to which he had been subjected, that he made a tremendous bound, and alighted clear, trembling and sweating profusely.
“Oh, I say, Jack, I am scratched,” grumbled Dick, giving himself soft rubs all over. “Don’t laugh. It does hurt so.”
“But I feel as if I can’t help it,” cried Jack, who burst into a fresh roar.
“I don’t think I should have laughed at poor old Dinny, if I had known how it hurts. Those thorns are nearly as sharp as needles.”
“Well, there, I won’t laugh any more; but you weren’t tossed up on the thorns by a rhinoceros. Come along. Let’s go after father;” and they set off, but very gently, for Dick’s face was screwed into a fresh grimace at every motion of the horse, while the poor beast itself was marked with little tiny beads of blood all over its satin skin.