fine horses were down, one was struggling in the stream, and the other
was groaning on the grass. One of the riders was getting out of the
water covered with mud, the other lay quite still.
His neck is broke, said my mother.
And serve him right, too, said one of the colts.
I thought the same, but my mother did not join with us.
Well, no, she said, you must not say that; but though I am an old
horse, and have seen and heard a great deal, I never yet could make out
why men are so fond of this sport; they often hurt themselves, often
spoil good horses, and tear up the fields, and all for a hare or a fox,
or a stag, that they could get more easily some other way; but we are
only horses, and don't know.
While my mother was saying this we stood and looked on. Many of the
riders had gone to the young man; but my master, who had been watching
what was going on, was the first to raise him. His head fell back and
his arms hung down, and every one looked very serious. There was no
noise now; even the dogs were quiet, and seemed to know that something
was wrong. They carried him to our master's house. I heard afterward
that it was young George Gordon, the squire's only son, a fine, tall
young man, and the pride of his family.
There was now riding off in all directions to the doctor's, to the
farrier's, and no doubt to Squire Gordon's, to let him know about his
son. When Mr. Bond, the farrier, came to look at the black horse that
lay groaning on the grass, he felt him all over, and shook his head; one
of his legs was broken. Then some one ran to our master's house and came
back with a gun; presently there was a loud bang and a dreadful shriek,
and then all was still; the black horse moved no more.
My mother seemed much troubled; she said she had known that horse for
years, and that his name was Rob Roy ; he was a good horse, and
there was no vice in him. She never would go to that part of the field
afterward.
Not many days after we heard the church-bell tolling for a long time,
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