“Nor the roan cob,” shouted another.
“He 'd better see 'em 'fore he sees Split-the-wind, then, or he 'd not look at 'em arter,” said Seth. “You 've only to ask for Seth Chiseller, and they 'll look me up.”
“You an't a-goin' to let us see Butcher's mare afore we go?” said one to the ostler.
“I an't, because I have n't got the key. She's a double-locked, and the cap 'n never gives it to no one, but comes a-feedin' time himself, to give her corn.”
After a few muttered remarks on this caution, the horse-dealers sauntered out of the yard, leaving me musing over what I had heard, and wondering if this excessive care of the landlord boded any suspicion regarding the winner of the prize.
“Jist draw that bolt across the gate, there, will ye,” said the ostler, while he produced a huge key from his pocket. “I know 'em well, them gents. A man must have fourteen eyes in his head, and have 'em back and front too, that shows 'em a horse beast! Darn me coarse! if they can't gi' 'un a blood spavin in a squirt of tobacco! Let's see your ticket, young master, and I 'll show you Charcoal,—. that's her name.”
“Here it is,” said I, “signed by the agent at Galveston, all right and regular.”
“The cap'n must see to that. I only want to know that ye have the number. Yes, that 's it; now stand a bit on one side. Ye 'll see her when she comes out.”
He entered the stable as he spoke, and soon re-appeared, leading a tall mare, fully sixteen hands high, and black as jet; a single white star on her forehead, and a dash of white across the tail, being the only marks on her. She was bursting with condition, and both in symmetry and action a splendid creature.