Presently the boy came back, carrying a feed of crushed barley. Then he unsaddled the horse, watered him, and fed him. Jeff grunted approval.
"You're earnin' that dollar--every cent of it." A delightful fragrance of bacon floated to Jeff's nostrils. Evidently provision had been made for man as well as beast.
"That smells mighty good," said Jeff.
Bud helped him to rise, but after one effort Jeff sank back, groaning.
"It's my boot," he explained. "See--I'm wearing a number eight on a number fifteen hoof. W-w-what? Pull it off? Not for ten thousand dollars. We'll cut it off."
Jeff produced a knife and felt its edge.
"It's sharp," he said, "sharp as you, Bud; but-doggone it! I can't use it."
Bud saw the sweat start on his skin as he tried to pull the injured foot towards him.
"S'pose I do it?" the boy suggested.
"You've not got the nerve, Bud. Why, you're yaller as cheese, you poor little cuss."