“Dake it avay, Loney, und proke it against de rocks. It makes me sick as I nefer vos yust to look at it!”
“Yes, sir, I will. Can I do anything for you, Mr. Goldberg?”
“No. Yes, go und look after de Jakey. Gif him some vater—oh, yes, some vater!”
Loney, with an uneasy fear tugging at his heart lest Mr. Goldberg should die, went after the horse, which he found, after a long search, in the rough stable back of the place, with his nose against a bundle of hay which he was not even trying to eat. He looked so round and comfortable that Loney, little as he knew of horses, was glad, for no one can travel in the lonely places of earth with a horse as companion without learning to love him.
Loney led the horse to the water and let him drink; then, with a sorrowful look at Mr. Goldberg, whose aching brow was still pressed against the cool rock, he returned him to the stable and tied him in front of the hay.
Poor little Loney did not know that Shoshone Pete had seen to the actual wants of the worn-out horse, but supposed it was what was customary at hotels. And it was Shoshone himself who had rubbed the tired horse down, given him a bedding of straw, which the half-starved animal had half-eaten before morning.
Shoshone it was, now, who went to the suffering man and gave him a resounding slap on the shoulder, saying loudly:
“Good-morning, pardner—I mean Mr. Wild Bill, the Bull-man.”
“Der teuyfel!”
“Why, what is the matter?”