The other also looked the cocky stranger over: "Yes—I 'm interested—a little. I ain't h—l-bent for to sell that horse. He 's th' best ever came to these parts—that's why he 's good—he came here."
Dave was impatient: "Is he where I can see him?"
"Shore," drawled the horseman, arising languidly. "Come along an' you can see him if yore eyes is good."
The owner of the "best horse in town" studied Dave as they walked along and his mental comment was not flattering to the protégé of the late Herr Schatz. "Fake cow-puncher," was his summing up. "He don't know a hoss from a hoss—but he thinks he does."
When they came to the corral the owner pointed to a big gray in the corner: "That's him, stranger. He 's part cow-horse an' part Kaintuk, an' too good to be out here in this part of the country. That's th' hoss Bad Hawkins rid from Juniper Creek to Halfway in ten hours—one hundred an' forty miles, says th' map, an' Hawkins weighed a hundred an' seventy afore they got him. He weighed so much he broke off th' limb of th' best tree they could find. Why, he 's th' cuss what held up th' Montana Express down at Juniper Creek bridge—reckon you are a stranger to these parts."
"He don't look like no miracle to me," asserted Dave, closely scrutinizing the horse.
"No? Mebby you ain't up on miracles. If you want a purty hoss why did n't you say so? Dolly 's slick as silk an' fat as butter—you can have her if you wants her. Cost you about twenty-five dollars less. But you won't save nothin' on her if you wants a hoss for hard ridin', one that gets there quick, an' gets back quick."
"I ain't said nothin' 'bout savin' no money," retorted Dave. "An' it seems to me yo 're purty d—n high in yore prices, anyhow."
"Well, I sees you wants a hoss right bad; an' when a man wants a hoss bad he wants a good hoss—an' good hosses come high. Dolly 's gentle as a kitten," shrewdly explained the owner. "Big Gray, there, he 's some hard to ride, onless you can sit a saddle good as th' next."
"How much for Big Gray?" snapped Dave.