Miss Laura then went into the other stall to see if there was any
creature there. There had been a horse. There was now a lean,
gaunt-looking animal lying on the ground, that seemed as if he was dead.
There was a heavy rope knotted round his neck, and fastened to his empty
rack. Miss Laura stepped carefully between his feet, cut the rope and
going outside the stall spoke kindly to him. He moved his ears slightly,
raised his head, tried to get up, fell back again, tried again, and
succeeded in staggering outdoors after Miss Laura, who kept encouraging
him, and then he fell down on the grass.
Fleetfoot stared at the miserable-looking creature as if he did not know
what it was. The horse had no sores on his body, as the cow had, nor was
he quite so lean; but he was the weakest, most distressed-looking animal
that I ever saw. The flies settled on him, and Miss Laura had to keep
driving them away. He was a white horse, with some kind of pale-colored
eyes, and whenever he turned them on Miss Laura, she would look away.
She did not cry, as she often did over the sick and suffering animals.
This seemed too bad for tears.
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