Mister Boots Read Free Page B

hanging there, tied to the rail. It had to be—”
    My sister interrupts. “A person ! The halters were unbuckled.” Once she gets started talking, she can’t stop. “They said it might have been me. After all, who needs a horse more than I do? And there I was, riding him. They say he should be shot—because of his legs. When we got to town, he collapsed. I couldn’t stand for him to be shot.”
    â€œWe’ll take all our money—it’s ours now—and buy him and pay the doctor to fix him.”
    But the doctor says, “Son, I saw that horse. He should be put out of his misery as soon as possible. I don’t like to see an animal suffer.”
    â€œYou could fix him. We’ll pay.”
    â€œI don’t do horses, and I’m not so sure he can be fixed. He’s never going to be much good again even if his legs do heal. He’s not worth two dollars. You’d have to pay two dollars to have him hauled off.”
    My sister says, “Moonlight Blue was sweating and shaking, but he waited till I got off before he collapsed.”
    â€œTell me, quick, how to get there!”
    â€œGo back with the doctor,” she says. “He’ll show you.”
    The doctor goes inside and comes right out. “She’s dead,” he says. He turns to me. “Did you realize that?”
    My sister slumps down on her knees just like I did. Then the doctor looks more sympathetic and reaches to touch her shoulder. “I’m sorry. Can you children manage?” Then he asks my sister how old she is and when she says twenty, he says, “I thought you were hardly seventeen,” and then again, “Will you manage?”
    â€œCan I ride back with you?” I say. “I have to go for Mister . . . I mean for Moonlight Blue.”
    â€œIt isn’t right to go chasing after that no-good horse at a time like this.”
    My sister says, “That horse is special.”
    â€œMaybe he was once, but not anymore. And he doesn’t even belong to you.”
    I ask my sister, “Where did Mother keep the money? Pay the doctor, and I’ll need some more to get Moonlight back. Hurry!”
    But she doesn’t know where the money is any more than I do.
    â€œBut you earned half of it yourself! More than half, I’ll bet! There must be some somewhere.”
    We look in all the normal places a person would hide money and some not-so-normal places, but we don’t find a single dollar, and we don’t have time to do a good job of hunting. Mister Boots might be in trouble already.
    We give the doctor a white crocheted afghan for payment. It looks special, like for a wedding. I’ll bet it’s worth a lot more than his visit out here for no other reason than to say, “She’s dead.”
    I gather up a few knit things in case I need to pay for Mister Boots and for a coffin for Mother. I should be thinking about her, but I hardly can because Mister Boots might be being shot right this very minute.
    I ride back with the doctor. I don’t like him, but I’ve never been in a car before. We make a nice big plume of dust.
    By the time we get to town, it’s evening. All the way I worry more and more about Mister Boots.
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    I guess if you find a man lying naked in a horse stall with ruined legs, you don’t doubt at all anymore that this man is the same as that horse. Mother said I shouldn’t believe things like this. Those were practically her dying words, but I just can’t be the way she said to be.
    At first I think he’s dead, too. I know horses often die from trying too hard. But then I see the whites of his eyes flicker—catch the light for a second as he opens them a little bit.
    â€œMister Boots?”
    Then he really looks at me and tries to speak, but only a blowy, horsey noise comes out. I get him water in the horse bucket and help him drink.
    â€œDid I do it?”
    â€œYou did.