"Bone's all right," he observed, cheerfully. "Only a sprain, I guess."
"Dat ees good," said Laguerre. "I geet de odder hoss."
He strode to the dead horse and stripped off saddle and bridle.
"Say," said Loudon, "I can do that while yo're goin' for the hoss. We'll have to leave 'em here, anyway."
"No, not dees treep, my frien'," Laguerre said, carrying saddle and bridle toward the corral. "Dat feller she leave Dan Smeet's hoss on de odder side de corral. Hoss she pretty tire', but she carry you all right."
On his hands and knees Loudon crawled to the corral and peered between the bars. The corral was a large one. Till recently the grass had grown thickly within it. But that grass had been nibbled to the roots, and the marks of shod hoofs were everywhere. From a spring near the shack a small stream ran through one corner of the corral.
"Slick," said Loudon. "Couldn't have been better, could it?"
"No eet could not," agreed Laguerre. "She feex up dees ole corral fine. Dat Ranger hoss she been here mabbeso four day. She have de grass. She have de watair. She all ready fresh w'en dat feller she come. Un how can we follow wit' de tire' pony? Oh, she have eet figure all out. For w'y? Can you tell me dat, Tom?"
"I dunno. It shore is too many for me."
He painfully made his way to the spring, drank, and then soaked his sprained ankle in the icy stream till Laguerre came to help him into the saddle.