"There Is No Remedy But Bleeding," Said I. "Run
For A Farrier." The Farrier Came.
"You must bleed the horse," I
shouted; "take from him an azumbre of blood." The farrier looked
at the animal, and made for the door.
"Where are you going?" I
demanded. "Home," he replied. "But we want you here." "I know
you do," was his answer; "and on that account I am going." "But
you must bleed the horse, or he will die." "I know he will," said
the farrier, "but I will not bleed him." "Why?" I demanded. "I
will not bleed him, but under one condition." "What is that?"
"What is it! - that you pay me an ounce of gold." "Run for the red
morocco case," said I to Antonio. It was brought; I took out a
large fleam, and with the assistance of a stone, drove it into the
principal artery horse's leg. The blood at first refused to flow;
with much rubbing, it began to trickle, and then to stream; it
continued so for half an hour. "The horse is fainting, mon
maitre," said Antonio. "Hold him up," said I, "and in another ten
minutes we will stop the vein."
I closed the vein, and whilst doing so I looked up into the
farrier's face, arching my eyebrows.
"Carracho! what an evil wizard," muttered the farrier, as he walked
away. "If I had my knife here I would stick him." We bled the
horse again, during the night, which second bleeding I believe
saved him.
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