y were close up to the slope, where the
doctor asked for bucket, water, and sponge, and began his attentions,
with Chris's help, to the suffering, badly-injured beast.

CHAPTER FORTY SIX.

A PATIENT PATIENT.

"I wonder you are both alive," said the doctor gravely, as he began to
make a careful examination of the mustang. "The height of those cliffs
is far greater than I expected."

Chris's eyes danced with glee, for he was beginning more and more to
forget his injuries in his delight at recovering his pony.

"But we only fell a bit at a time, father," he said merrily.

"I suppose not," said the doctor dryly. "But now, can you help me a
little, or are you too full of aches and pains?"

"You mean with the pony, father? Oh yes, I'm going to help. He'll be
so much quieter if I stand with him."

"That's what I thought, for I don't want to have to throw the poor
beast; he must be sore enough as it is. Stand forward, and be on your
guard."

"Yes," said Chris quietly, "but I never thought of it before: his saddle
and bridle are both gone."

"I wonder, his skin hasn't gone too," said Wilton. "But you had better
get a good strong bridle on him again, doctor."

"We'll see. He'll soon show whether he will bear what I do, or show
fight. Be on your guard, Chris, for bites and kicks."

"He won't bite or kick me, father," cried the boy resentfully.

"Not now, my boy, but I'm thinking about when I'm taking out those
arrows. I must cut.--Let's see."

The doctor patted the poor animal on the neck, talking to him
caressingly, and then passed his hand along slowly till his fingers
pressed the spot where about an inch of one of the broken arrows stood
out of the shoulder.

At the first touch the pony winced, giving a sharp twitch, making the
skin crinkle up together; and he raised one hoof and stamped it
impatiently, but he showed no disposition to bite.

"I believe he'll stand it," said the doctor, examining the wound. "It's
beginning to fester already, and I dare say the cutting will give as
much relief as pain."

"It's risky to chance it, doctor," said Wilton.

"No, I think not," was the reply. "I don't give animals the credit for
much sense, but the poor beast knows us, and he may have enough to be
aware that we are trying to do him good."

As the doctor spoke he opened his leather case of instruments, and took
out a curved, hook-like knife and a pair of strong forceps.

"Water and sponge all read