In spite of all the family could say Dr. Fred sold Ross toward spring. I shall never forget the look of sadness in the poor old fellow's eyes, and the mournful whinny he gave as he turned his head at the barn door and looked back at the empty stall. It happened that the man who bought him came for him when both doctors, the bays and Bob were away. The little boys were playing in the barn.
"I've come for the old horse I bought," he said.
"It's that 'un," Chet answered, pointing to Ross, so we knew there was no mistake. I called after him as long as I could make him hear.
He said he wished he could die, that there was never a moment that he was not in pain. He had stringhalt, I think, and Dr. Fred said he was getting less worth every day and after awhile would not be fit to travel.
Master said, better put him out of his misery, then, but he belonged to Fred, so that settled it.
Before I forget it, I want to tell of a former mate of Ross that he used to talk about.
His name was Billy. They belonged to a very passionate man, who, when he became excited, would pound them unmercifully. Some little thing went wrong one day, nothing that the team was to blame for, and the man dealt Billy several blows on the head with a linch-pin. He staggered, and the man, fearing he had killed him, cooled down and quickly brought some water, giving him some to drink and pouring some on his head. This seemed to help him and he worked on all day. Before morning, though, Ross said the animal woke him, but received no answer, only groans and queer sounds. By this time Billy had knocked down the thin partition between their stalls and was dealing him some terrible blows with his heels. He crept as far away as he could and longed for daylight. When it came Billy lay on the floor bruised, exhausted and almost choked from the wrenching of the halter strap.
As far as he could reach in every direction things were demolished.
The owner seemed much frightened when he came out, and at once put a boy on Ross to go for a veterinary. The latter, after an examination, asked if any blow had been given on the head. Shamefacedly the master acknowledged the truth.
"Well," replied the other, "if you got any satisfaction out of it at the time it is all you ever will get. This horse is ruined. There is inflammation of the brain. He may get better, but I think he will have one or two more spells of delirium and then die. It is something similar to mad staggers."