In his opinion a good, big jolt right now would make a
new man of him.
Rambler, as he had half expected, was obliged to do his walking with
three legs only; which is awkward for a horse accustomed to four
exceedingly limber ones, and does not make for speed, however great
one's hurry. Ford walked around him twice, scooped water in his hands,
and once more bathed the shoulder--not that he had any great faith in
cold water as a liniment, but because there was nothing else that he
could do, and his anxiety and his pity impelled service of some sort. He
rubbed until his fingers were numb and his arm aching, tried him again,
and gave up all hope of leading the horse to a ranch. A mile he might
manage, if he had to but ten! He rubbed Rambler's nose commiseratingly,
straightened his forelock, told him over and over that it was a darned
shame, anyway, and finally turned to pick up his saddle. He could not
leave that lying on the prairie for inquisitive kit-foxes to chew into
shoestrings, however much he might dread the forty-pound burden of it on
his shoulders. He was stooping to pick it up when he saw a bit of paper
twisted and tied to the saddle-horn with a red ribbon.
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