"No, not yet; but, unfortunately, he is as bad as if he were."
With these words he sighed.
The stranger bent over the animal, whose body was agitated by a nervous quivering, opened its eyelids, and regarded it attentively.
"Your horse has had a stroke," he said a moment later. "Let me act."
"Oh!" the other exclaimed, "do you think you can save him?"
"I hope so," the first speaker laconically observed.
"Caray! If you do that, we shall be friends for life. Poor Negro! My old comrade!"
The horseman bathed the animal's temples and nostrils with rum and water. At the end of a few moments, the horse appeared slightly recovered, his faded eyes began to sparkle again, and he tried to rise.
"Hold him tight," the improvised surgeon said.
"Be quiet, then, my good beast. Come, Negro, my boy, quieto, quieto; it is for your good," he said soothingly.