Chris gave the soft neck another pat or two, and limped off with his companion.
“I do hope he’s not going to die, Ned,” he said, and he looked back when they had passed the mules, to have the satisfaction of seeing the pony make an effort to rise, without avail, but on the second trial he stood up with his legs far apart, gave himself a shake, and then lowered his head to begin biting feebly at the grass.
“Think he’ll get over it, father?” said Chris, as he reached their stronghold.
“Oh yes. The injuries are not deep; but I’m rather afraid of that strain. He may go lame; but we shall see. I called you because I want you to keep out of the sun. Lie down in the shade and rest.”
“I don’t feel anything much the matter now, father.”
“Perhaps not, my boy,” said the doctor quietly, “but I want you to be better still to-morrow, not worse.”
Chris, though he did not feel much the matter, to quote his own words, was fully conscious of being a good deal shaken, and when he lay down upon the rough bed of sage-brush covered with a blanket, the attitude was very pleasant to his aching limbs, and he soon began to feel that it was very restful to lie there watching the sides of the valley and making believe to keep a lookout for Indians.
The evening closed in, however, without any sign of the enemy, and soon after the lad had to listen to the congratulations of Bourne and Griggs, who brought in a pleasant addition to the stores in the shape of the grouse-like birds which came down from the tableland in coveys to get at the water which had been Chris’s guide to the bottom of the valley.
“A fine bit of luck that, squire,” said Griggs, “getting the mustang back. I was surprised.”
“Have you been to see him?” asked Chris anxiously.