Then he _would_ be open to
ridicule. Collie reasoned that he must finish the task as he had begun
it--thoroughly.
Again he heated the stones, warmed the blanket, and gave "Blunder," as
he now called him affectionately, some hot whiskey. Then he built a
larger fire, wrapped himself in his saddle-blankets, and, with feet to
the blaze, slept. His own pony grazed at large, dragging a rope.
Habit brought Collie awake early. The fire had gone out. He was stiff
with cold. Arising, he glanced at the heap beneath the blanket ringed
with stones. "Time to eat!" he cried lustily, and whipped the blanket
from the mud-encrusted Blunder. The colt raised its head, struggled, put
out one stiff fore leg, and then the other. Collie grabbed the animal's
tail and heaved. Blunder humped himself--and was on his feet, wobbling,
dizzy-eyed, scandalously "mussed up"--but alive!
"Whoop-ee!" shouted Collie as the colt staggered a pace or two trying
his questionable strength. "Gee! But I'm hungry!"
The Blunder, a mere caricature of a horse in pose and outward seeming,
gazed at his rescuer with stupid eyes. He had not the faintest idea what
all the joy was about, but something deep in his horse nature told him
that the boisterous youth was his friend.
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