Part 12 (1/2)

”That's the smell the germs make when they're breaking down the tissues of the body. That's what produces pus.”

Lucky it had missed us. I could imagine Mother's reaction if I showed up covered in horse pus. Black horse pus at that. She'd never let me out of the house-no, out of my room-ever again. Never ever in my whole life. (Actually that might not be so bad, as long as I could have all the books I wanted, and not just Aggie's dull biographies.) Samuel left to get a bucket of hot water and Epsom salts from Viola. Travis leaned against the stable door.

”Are you all right?” I said.

He gulped. ”Yep. Fine.”

”Are you sure? You don't look so good.”

”Fine.”

I turned my attention back to Dr. Pritzker and watched him run his good hand over Arthur, checking his teeth and withers and fetlocks and hocks.

”He's a grand horse otherwise,” he said. ”Should be good for many years of plowing yet.”

Far from bearing a grudge, Arthur actually looked better already and seemed to enjoy the knowledgeable hand moving over him. Samuel returned with the bucket, and the two of them maneuvered it under the infected hoof. Arthur sank his leg into the bucket, sighing in what sounded like relief. I glanced at Travis and noted that his color was improving.

”The heat will draw out the rest of the infection,” Dr. Pritzker said. ”Then we'll put a bandage on it to keep it clean.”

”You know what?” I said. ”Granddaddy says the days of the horse are numbered. He says that soon we'll all be using auto-mobiles to plow. I can't see it myself. But he's generally right about such things.”

”Well, I think he's right about that. They're using steam tractors in some parts of the country, although I'd hate to see these old fellows go, myself.” He offered Arthur a palm full of grain and thumped his thick neck affectionately.

”All right,” he said, ”now we'll put the bandage on.” He pulled a square of chammy leather from his bag while Samuel lifted the foot from the bucket and dried it with a clean cotton rag. He and Samuel secured the leather, finis.h.i.+ng up with a binding of thin rawhide cord to hold it all in place. I watched closely and said, ”Why are you doing that?”

”It's important to keep it all clean until it heals up. We don't want other germs getting in there where they don't belong. We'll check on him tomorrow.”

That evening Travis and I took a stroll through the barn and stopped at the patient's stall. To my dismay, Arthur was tugging at the cords around his hoof and had managed to pull the bandage halfway off.

”Oh, Arthur,” I said, ”you bad horse. What are we going to do with you?”

Arthur gave no answer, but Travis said, ”Should I run for Dr. Pritzker?”

”We could send for him, or...” Longish pause while I thought furiously.

”Or what?”

”I could fix it.”

”Really?” Travis sounded impressed. ”You know how to do that?”

I couldn't back out now, so I slipped into the stall. ”I saw them do it today. It's just a bandage. I can do it. I think. But you'll have to help.”

Arthur stood eighteen hands high and weighed about two thousand pounds, but I would rather have dealt with him than Suns.h.i.+ne the Shetland, shorter of stature and fouler of temper. Better the gentle giant than the nasty midget, to my way of thinking. Arthur nudged me in a friendly way, no doubt thinking of the many apples I'd brought him over the years. Good. I wanted him to remember those apples, every single one of them.

I tied his halter rope short and then tried to pick up his foot. Nothing happened. I leaned against his ma.s.sive shoulder and pushed. Nothing. I took a deep breath and threw myself against his side. Still nothing. I made a fist and punched him. He took no notice. I might as well have been a gnat.

”Travis,” I wheezed, ”get me something sharp.”

”Like what?”

”I don't know, something sharp. A hatpin will do.”

”A hatpin? In the barn?”

”Something, anything, and for goodness' sake, hurry up.”

He ran to the tack room and returned a moment later with a screwdriver. ”Will this do?”

I grunted and took it from him. He said, ”What are you going to do with that?”

I wondered if, despite Arthur's placid nature, I was taking my life in my hands. I wondered if he would pound me into oatmeal and I would live out my days in the Austin Home for Crippled Children.

”Oh boy,” I muttered, ”here we go. Forgive me, Arthur.” I drew my arm back and then let fly, poking the muscular shoulder with a good hard jab, enough to startle him but not enough to break the skin. Travis cried out. Arthur snorted in surprise, pulled away, and ... lifted his foot. I dropped the screwdriver, threw all my weight against him, and pulled at the dressing, centering it over the hoof and retying the cords. It was fiddly business and had to be done quickly. It took me only a few seconds but it felt like an hour and I broke out in a light sweat.

”Whew,” I said, easing my weight off his shoulder. Arthur put his foot down in the straw. The bandage did not move.

”Hey, Callie, that's pretty good. Maybe you could be an animal doctor.”

I didn't pay him much attention. I was still breathing hard, happy to have survived my first horse doctoring with all my limbs intact.

The next day was Sat.u.r.day, so Travis and I hung about until Dr. Pritzker and Samuel returned to check on their patient. Samuel led Arthur out of the stall so that we could observe his gait. The bandage was intact and he walked with barely a limp. Dr. Pritzker picked up the foot and frowned over it.

Uh-oh.

”These are not my usual knots,” he said as I edged away.

Surely somebody in the house needed me for something. Had I made my bed? Had I fed my newt?

Dr. Pritzker went on, ”Did Alberto do this? It's nice work.”

I stopped in my tracks. Travis piped up proudly. ”We did it. It came off, so we put it back on.”

”You did this?”

We both nodded.

”Well, little man, I am quite impressed. You've done a very tidy job. Perhaps you could be a veterinarian yourself one day.”

What? I couldn't believe my ears. The ”little man” stood there and grinned. I poked him with my elbow.

”Ow.” He turned to me and remonstrated, ”I did help, you know.” He saw the look on my face and added, ”A bit.” Then he fessed up: ”Callie's really the one that did it. She's good at that kind of stuff.”

Dr. Pritzker looked at us doubtfully, as if we might be telling tales.

”So,” Travis went on, ”maybe we could both be animal doctors, right?”