Read Online Forged (Gail McCarthy Mystery) by Laura Crum - Free Book Online
Authors: Laura Crum
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to stand the degree of confinement and immobility necessary to heal a broken leg bone. Thus a broken leg almost always meant a death sentence.
And I knew Doug Hoffman well; more than that, I knew his horses. Doug had learned to team rope in the same time period that I had; we'd often sat together commiserating over our mistakes. I wondered which of his three nice geldings had gotten hurt.
My favorite, it turned out. My heart sank like a stone when I saw the dapple-gray horse standing on three legs in the dirt parking lot behind the clinic. Mr. Twister, a horse I'd admired for years.
"Oh, no," I said out loud as I got out of the truck. "Not Twister. What happened?"
Doug shook his head. "You're not going to believe it, Gail. He ran into my truck."
"He what?"
"I know it sounds crazy. But he literally ran into my truck."
"How'd that happen?" I asked, as I stepped forward to lay a hand on the horse's neck, slightly damp with sweat.
Doug sighed. "I keep my horses in a little five-acre field just down the road from my house. I got home late last night, after dark, and drove down to throw some hay to the horses, as usual. Opened the gate, drove my pickup into the field, and headed for the shed where I keep the hay. There wasn't any moon, so I couldn't see much, just the road right ahead of me in the headlights.
"That road takes a bend around a big tree just before it gets to the hay shed. I came around the comer and saw this horse flying straight at me at a dead run. I slammed on the brakes and came to a complete stop; I thought he was going to come right through the windshield and end up in my lap.
"He must have been blinded by the headlights." Doug shook his head again. "He locked it up at the last second and slid half under the bumper; I felt him hit the truck, but not hard. Then he ran off.
"To make a long story short, he ran on all four legs as far as I could see in the headlights, so I figured he was all right. I've got a new baby at home and my wife is pretty stressed out, so I just threw the hay out and went back to do my duty as a dad. But when I came back this morning to check, Twister was three-legged."
Twister was, indeed, standing on three legs, holding his left hind leg so that the hoof didn't touch the ground. I palpated the leg gently; nothing obvious. Just a lot of swelling around the stifle.
"Lead him a few steps," I said.
The gray horse hobbled off obediently in response to Doug's tug on the leadrope. He did, I noticed hopefully, put a little weight on the bad leg. Not much, but a little.
"I'm not sure," I told Doug, "but it looks like he might have tom up his meniscus joint. I'll need to shoot some X rays, though."
Doug nodded. I knew he was expecting this. As I pulled our largest X-ray machine out of the back room and plugged it in, I asked Doug, "How old is this horse?"
"Seven this spring." Doug shook his head heavily. "And he was just starting to be really solid. I thought he was going to be my number-one horse this year. It'll be a shame if I have to chicken him."
I stared at the gelding, who stood patiently waiting despite the fact that he was undoubtedly in a lot of pain. Pretty-headed, with a large, kind, alert eye, Twister was in all ways an appealing horse. His dapple-gray coat was icing on the cake, a color scheme as lustrous and ineffable as watered silk, or shadowed light on a still pond.
"It would be a real shame," I agreed. "He's a gentle horse, isn't he? I used to see your kids riding him."
"That's right. Gentle as can be-you can put anyone on him. And a top-notch rope horse besides."
"It always happens to the good ones, doesn't it?" I propped the heavy X-ray plates in position and took the necessary shots, Twister standing for it all like the gentleman he was.
Ten minutes later, I'd developed the X rays and studied them. Returning to Doug and his horse, I said, "The good news is that the leg's not broken."
Doug's wide smile faded as I added, "But the joint is pretty thoroughly
And I knew Doug Hoffman well; more than that, I knew his horses. Doug had learned to team rope in the same time period that I had; we'd often sat together commiserating over our mistakes. I wondered which of his three nice geldings had gotten hurt.
My favorite, it turned out. My heart sank like a stone when I saw the dapple-gray horse standing on three legs in the dirt parking lot behind the clinic. Mr. Twister, a horse I'd admired for years.
"Oh, no," I said out loud as I got out of the truck. "Not Twister. What happened?"
Doug shook his head. "You're not going to believe it, Gail. He ran into my truck."
"He what?"
"I know it sounds crazy. But he literally ran into my truck."
"How'd that happen?" I asked, as I stepped forward to lay a hand on the horse's neck, slightly damp with sweat.
Doug sighed. "I keep my horses in a little five-acre field just down the road from my house. I got home late last night, after dark, and drove down to throw some hay to the horses, as usual. Opened the gate, drove my pickup into the field, and headed for the shed where I keep the hay. There wasn't any moon, so I couldn't see much, just the road right ahead of me in the headlights.
"That road takes a bend around a big tree just before it gets to the hay shed. I came around the comer and saw this horse flying straight at me at a dead run. I slammed on the brakes and came to a complete stop; I thought he was going to come right through the windshield and end up in my lap.
"He must have been blinded by the headlights." Doug shook his head again. "He locked it up at the last second and slid half under the bumper; I felt him hit the truck, but not hard. Then he ran off.
"To make a long story short, he ran on all four legs as far as I could see in the headlights, so I figured he was all right. I've got a new baby at home and my wife is pretty stressed out, so I just threw the hay out and went back to do my duty as a dad. But when I came back this morning to check, Twister was three-legged."
Twister was, indeed, standing on three legs, holding his left hind leg so that the hoof didn't touch the ground. I palpated the leg gently; nothing obvious. Just a lot of swelling around the stifle.
"Lead him a few steps," I said.
The gray horse hobbled off obediently in response to Doug's tug on the leadrope. He did, I noticed hopefully, put a little weight on the bad leg. Not much, but a little.
"I'm not sure," I told Doug, "but it looks like he might have tom up his meniscus joint. I'll need to shoot some X rays, though."
Doug nodded. I knew he was expecting this. As I pulled our largest X-ray machine out of the back room and plugged it in, I asked Doug, "How old is this horse?"
"Seven this spring." Doug shook his head heavily. "And he was just starting to be really solid. I thought he was going to be my number-one horse this year. It'll be a shame if I have to chicken him."
I stared at the gelding, who stood patiently waiting despite the fact that he was undoubtedly in a lot of pain. Pretty-headed, with a large, kind, alert eye, Twister was in all ways an appealing horse. His dapple-gray coat was icing on the cake, a color scheme as lustrous and ineffable as watered silk, or shadowed light on a still pond.
"It would be a real shame," I agreed. "He's a gentle horse, isn't he? I used to see your kids riding him."
"That's right. Gentle as can be-you can put anyone on him. And a top-notch rope horse besides."
"It always happens to the good ones, doesn't it?" I propped the heavy X-ray plates in position and took the necessary shots, Twister standing for it all like the gentleman he was.
Ten minutes later, I'd developed the X rays and studied them. Returning to Doug and his horse, I said, "The good news is that the leg's not broken."
Doug's wide smile faded as I added, "But the joint is pretty thoroughly
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