"One hundred dollars."
"I ain't buyin' a herd," remonstrated Dave.
"I ain't sellin' a herd," smiled the owner. "I told you good hosses come high. Mebby Dolly 'd suit you better. She 's my daughter's hoss."
"Here 's th' hundred," replied Dave, nettled. "Got a bridle or halter or piece of rope? An' I want to buy a saddle—one that's been broke in."
"There's a halter on him—good enough? All right; I got a saddle that's in purty fair shape—don't need it, so you can have it for twenty."
When Dave rode from the corral he was headed for the general store and bought a rifle, a rope, and sundry other necessaries, including food. Returning to the hotel he put his horse in the corral, had a drink, and went to his room carrying the saddle, the gunny sack, and his other purchases with him. The gunny sack had not been from under his arm an instant while he had been in town. The erstwhile owner of Big Gray drifted back to his table shortly after Dave's return and settled himself for another drink.
"Did you sell him one?" asked the proprietor, digging down for change.
"Yep," was the reply.
"Fifty, sixty, seventy-five—there 's yore change. I wonder who he is an' where he's goin'?" remarked the proprietor, in lieu of something better.
"Dunno; but he ain't no cow-punch, an' likewise he ain't no tenderfoot. Looks like a tin-horn to me. His fingers was purty slick gettin' th' bills off his roll. They was so slick I counted 'em to be sure he was n't robbin' hisself. But there was n't no folded bill there. Here, have a drink with me—business is pickin' up."