He drew nearer the fence again. With head
over the top wire he gazed longingly at the clumps of grass on the
hummocks scattered over the muck of the overflow. His shoulder needed
scratching. With drooping head, eyes half-closed, and lower lip pendant,
he rubbed against the loosened post. The post sagged and wobbled.
Whether it was deliberate intent, or just natural "horse" predominating
his actions, it would be difficult to determine. Finally the post gave
way and fell. The colt drew back and contemplated the opening with a
vacuous eye. It was not interesting now. No, indeed! He wandered away.
But in the dusk of that evening, when a chill dew sparkled along the
edges of the bog, he came, a clumsy shadow and grazed among the
hummocks. Slowly he worked toward the treachery of black ooze that shone
in the starlight. He sank to his fetlocks. He drew his feet up one after
another, still progressing toward the centre of the bog, and sinking
deeper at each step. He became stricken with fear as he sank to his
hocks. He plunged and snorted. The bog held him with a soft, detaining
grip--and drew him slowly down. He nickered, and finally screamed in
absolute terror. Up to his heaving belly the black mud crept.
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