The horse slowly walked up to the water trough, face caked
in dirt, and began trying to drink down the entire thing. This was enough to shake
the rider, who slowly slid off, landing with a heavy squelch.
The local tee-totaller stopped whaling away about the evils
of firewater and ran to his side, followed by a few of those nearby. The rider
looked dead, but there was breath, just, on his lips.
“This man needs a sawbones!” declared the tee-totaller.
“Drink…” the rider managed.
The tee-totaller had a crisis of faith until I poured water
down the kid’s throat.
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