“That’s what I thought, for I don’t want to have to throw the poor beast; he must be sore enough as it is. Stand forward, and be on your guard.”
“Yes,” said Chris quietly, “but I never thought of it before: his saddle and bridle are both gone.”
“I wonder, his skin hasn’t gone too,” said Wilton. “But you had better get a good strong bridle on him again, doctor.”
“We’ll see. He’ll soon show whether he will bear what I do, or show fight. Be on your guard, Chris, for bites and kicks.”
“He won’t bite or kick me, father,” cried the boy resentfully.
“Not now, my boy, but I’m thinking about when I’m taking out those arrows. I must cut.—Let’s see.”
The doctor patted the poor animal on the neck, talking to him caressingly, and then passed his hand along slowly till his fingers pressed the spot where about an inch of one of the broken arrows stood out of the shoulder.
At the first touch the pony winced, giving a sharp twitch, making the skin crinkle up together; and he raised one hoof and stamped it impatiently, but he showed no disposition to bite.
“I believe he’ll stand it,” said the doctor, examining the wound. “It’s beginning to fester already, and I dare say the cutting will give as much relief as pain.”
“It’s risky to chance it, doctor,” said Wilton.