Free The Black Stallion's Blood Bay Colt by Walter Farley Page A

could for the colt. He would do it his own way. He wouldn’t ask any help from Uncle Wilmer. Tom had a lot to make up for, and it would take time—much longer than if this hadn’t happened.
    All through breakfast Aunt Emma knew there was something wrong, but she didn’t ask what it was. Nor did Tom or Uncle Wilmer volunteer any information. They ate in silence, Tom toying with his pancakes. And for the first time since he had arrived at the farm, Aunt Emma didn’t urge him to eat more.
    He left before his uncle and aunt had finished their breakfast. And if his aunt wondered why he had poured hot water into the porcelain washbowl and carried it with him, she did not ask.
    When he reached the barn, Tom went into the end stall, which had been used for the tack room. He went to the chest and, removing a small bottle of disinfectant, poured a few drops into the hot water. Next, he tore a piece of gauze from a roll and folded it carefully; then he left the room.
    The Queen moved toward him when he entered the box stall. But his eyes were for the colt, standing close beside her. The bleeding had stopped and the swelling was beginning to go down a bit. The Queen pushed her nose toward the bowl Tom carried. He put it high on the window sill, where she could not get at it; then he went to the rear of the stall and pitched some hay into the Queen’s rack. It would be best if she ate while he took care of the colt.
    He went inside the stall again and soaked thegauze in the disinfectant solution. Then, holding the gauze behind him, he extended his other hand toward the colt, still half-hidden behind the mare. In the palm of his hand were some crushed oats. He knelt down beside the mare, his hand thrust beneath her belly toward where he could see the slim legs of the colt.
    He was content to wait, and wait he did. Many minutes passed while the mare continued eating and the cloth dried in Tom’s hand, yet the colt made no move nor did he attempt to eat the feed offered him.
    Tom looked up to find his uncle standing in the doorway.
    â€œI could hold him for you,” Uncle Wilmer said slowly. “That way you could do it easier an’ faster—” He stopped abruptly, looking toward the floor. “You’d better do it your way,” he added finally.
    A short time later, Uncle Wilmer left while Tom still sat on the straw beside the mare, waiting for the colt to show an interest in the oats he was offering him.
    He didn’t know how long he had been there when he felt the colt’s breath on his fingers; then, seconds later, the soft muzzle touched his hand. He held it still and steady as the colt ate the feed, and when it was gone Tom reached for more in his pocket. He wet the gauze again, hopeful that he would be able to get close to the colt this time.
    Now he moved to the front of the mare and the colt stood before him. He began talking to him softly as he once more offered him the oats. There was a moment’s hesitation on the part of the colt. Big-eyed andnot quite certain, he watched Tom. Finally his muzzle reached for the feed.
    Tom continued talking to him as he ate, but his eyes were upon the welt, now blood-caked. After a while his hand went to the small head. The colt drew back, but not before Tom’s hand had come to rest upon his nose. Gently the boy held the gauze there as the colt backed away until his rump met the wall. The colt was a little frightened, but he wasn’t fighting him. Tom took the gauze away and offered him the feed again. The colt came closer to it. Cautiously Tom dabbed at the cut, cleansing it well, while the colt licked the oats from his hand.
    Much later, he left the stall again to go to the chest in the tack room. He found the bottle of methylene blue, and soaked a clean piece of gauze with it. When he returned to the stall, the colt was moving restlessly about. But as Tom entered, the colt hurried behind the mare once more.
    Tom went forward,