Uncle Sol looked sadly at Ruarke and shook his head. The marewas too far gone. Even for him. They’d be lucky to save the colt.
“I called the Sheriff,” Ruarke said. “I sent him pictures of all the animals. He’s given the OK to put the mare down.”
Both men looked at the young woman speaking encouragingly to the mostly dead mare. Then the horse’s knees buckled.
“No!” Santee cried. She had the mare’s head cradled as best she could. “Don’t give up! Please don’t give up!”
Sol jerked to go to her, but Ruarke stepped ahead and laid his hand on her quaking shoulders. The foal checked him out for breakfast, too, before once more going to the mare’s shriveled utter.
A pickup pulled up and one of the men brought a giant baby bottle. It took no time to convince the starving foal to latch on and gu
