He had to pass the stables on his way, and as he did so he saw they were fully lighted. He hesitated, then nerved himself to go in and inquire why this was so. He entered one of the open doors, and a peculiar gasping sound fell on his ears. He passed two of the stalls, and he saw the horses in them were restless and uneasy. Then he came to the third stall--Brown Bess' stall--and such a sight met his eyes that he never forgot it to his dying day. Reid was standing there and a farrier whom he knew, and on the straw of the stall lay Brown Bess, panting and struggling in her death agonies. Blood was flowing from her nostrils; blood from her distended jaws, while convulsive tremors ran through her sleek and glossy form. "What is this? What has happened?" asked Henderson, hoarsely. The two men, who had not noticed his approach, as they were watching the horse, now turned around and saw Henderson. "Some scoundrel shot her on the road as we came through Henley Wood," answered Reid, gloomily. "She's shot through the lungs, Mr. Roberts here says--and it's all up with her, poor beast." "Yes, Mr. Henderson, I fear nothing can be done," said Mr. Roberts, the farrier, shaking his head. Henderson gave a kind of cry, and knelt down on the straw beside the dying horse. "Bess! Bess! My poor Bess! don't you know me?" he exclaimed, and his words were broken by a sob. The dumb creature in her death throes knew her master's voice. She opened her fast glazing eyes a little wider; she tried to whinny her welcome, but the exertion killed her. A rush of blood came from her mouth, a terrible struggle convulsed her limbs, and the two men standing behind seized Henderson and pulled him forcibly away from her. "She might kick you without knowing it, sir," said the farrier. "Ay, poor brute, it will be all over in a moment or so." His words were true; there was another plunge or two, then a faint quivering ran through her frame, and then all was still. Henderson stood watching her, and then with a groan he covered his face with his hand, and turned away. "It's a bad business," said the farrier. "Who on earth could have shot her?" "It was just at the turn in Henley Wood," repeated Reid; "we were coming home as nicely as could be when I heard a shot close at hand. Poor Bess a-kind o' jumped in the air, and then started galloping, and never stopped till we got to the stable door." "And you saw no one?" asked the farrier. "Not a living soul; it was too dark," answered Reid. "And what were you doing out so late?" asked Henderson, in a strange, hollow voice, now looking at his groom. "Well, ye know, master, I'd been buying that mare I told you of, and Skidder and I wet the bargain, and I got a bit tight. But I waited till I was all right, and then I was driving away quietly home--"