“Felt sorry for him? Why?” asked Jim with great interest.
“He was bein’ mistreated. You can’t be a horse trader for fifty years without becomin’ real fond of horses. It gets you mad to see anyone treat an animal mean. So I picked up this pony mainly to get him away from the skunk that owned him. Look how thin the horse is. Why I’d bet money he hasn’t had a feedin’ of grain in the two years that man had him. Of course, these Westerns are tough. They run wild all winter and find feed where other breeds would starve. But this pony was turned out in a field where there wasn’t enough grass. Nothing to eat except straw. That strawstack was all the shelter he had too. You can tell from that long shaggy hair that he was out all winter. It will take a lot of curryin’ and plenty of oats to get that coat in shape.”
“You mean he was out in the snow and everything?” asked Jim.
“The snow isn’t so bad. He’s probably used to that. But when horses run loose in the winter out West, they don’t have nothin’ else to do but hunt for feed. This horse has been rode all winter too. See those saddle galls?” said the trader, pointing. “They’re recent. A horse can’t do much work on a diet of straw and then stay outside in the cold to boot. He needs a layer of fat to keep him warm.”
“How did he get those saddle sores?” inquired Jim.
“Been saddled wrong.”
“They look awful sore.”
“They were, but they’re healing now that I’m givin’ them a little attention. If nobody rides him for a while, they’ll clear up all right.”
“He’s lame too,” pointed out Jim.
“Yep, nail in his foot. The owner just pulled the nail out—nothin’ else. I was sort of takin’ a chance buyin’ the horse at all. He might have developed lockjaw. Once a horse gets lockjaw you might as well shoot him. But I pared out the hoof, soaked his foot in a lysol solution, and worked some iodine into the puncture. I’ve given him a couple of treatments since and he’s out of danger now. In a week you’d never know he’d stepped on a nail.”