“You are all wrong, every man of you,” said Seth. “He's bringing her to England, a present for the Queen, for her own ridin'.”
“And I beg to say, gentlemen, that none of you have hit upon the right track yet; nor do I think it necessary to correct you more fully. But as you appear to take an interest in my concerns, I may mention that I shall want a hack for my servant's riding,—a short-legged, square-jointed thing, clever to go, and a good feeder, not much above fourteen hands in height, or four hundred dollars in price. If you chance upon this—”
“I know your mark.”
“My roan, with the wall-eye. You don't mind a walleye?”
“No, no! my black pony mare's the thing the gent's a lookin' for.”
“I say it's nothing like it,” broke in Seth. “He's a-wantin' a half-bred mustang, with a down-east cross,—a critter to go through fire and water; liftin' the fore-legs like a high-pressure piston, and with a jerk of the 'stifle' like the recoil of a brass eight-pounder. An't I near the mark?”
“Not very wide of it,” said I, nodding encouragingly.
“She 's at Austin now. You an't a-goin' there?”
“Yes,” said I; “I shall be in Austin next week.”
“Well, never you make a deal till you see my black pony,” cried one.