It had long been dark when we arrived—inky dark, too, with no cessation of the rainfall. A trembling hand held out a lantern while a hollow voice fairly sobbed: "I'm afeard ye're too late, doctor, my woman is sinking fast."
"Now, see here, my man, you take good care of my noble little horse here and I'll pull the wife through, or fail doing my best."
By the uncertain light of the lantern I saw that I was being tied in a sort of shed. My saddle was removed, but its place was soon supplied by a stream of water that trickled through a hole in the roof. Move which way I would, a leak was directly over my back. The man laid some newly-cut grass across some poles, barely within my reach, and went away.
All the while I was aware that the place had another occupant, though I could see nothing. Presently a horse's voice in the darkness asked if I had come far. From the first tone I noticed a sadness, but I replied to the question, adding that I would rather be out of doors than in this leaky place.
"Oh," she said, "this ain't bad now, but it is a dreary place in winter with the snow drifting in and the wind whistling through."
I was too much surprised to answer at first, and in a minute she gave a long, piteous whinny.
"Whom are you calling?" I asked.
"My baby, my pretty, little roan colt; they took him from me last week and have not brought him back. It seems as if my heart must break! We were never separated an hour before, and I don't see how he will get along alone. My baby, oh, my baby!"
I expressed my pity for her, and she said it did her good to have some one to talk to.