"I reckon they're all right in their way, podner, but they're a leetle too wild fer me to break, an' the kid's not strong enough."
"Askin' questions seems ter be fash'n'ble. Whar did yer git thet magpie hoss?"
Bud was looking over the old man's mount, a beautiful little black-and-white-spotted pony, as clean limbed as a racer, and with a round and compact body. It was a bizarre-looking little animal, with a long, black mane and tail, at the roots of which was a round, white spot. It was the sort of animal that would attract attention anywhere.
"Magpie! Podner, I riz her from a colt."
"She's shore a showy beast."
"She is some on ther picture, ain't she?" asked the old man, looking the pony over admiringly.
"She's all right, but—"
"But what, podner?" The old man looked at Bud with a frown.
"Well, I ain't none on knockin' another man's hoss, but I never see one o' them black-an'-white-spotted animiles what could do more than lope, an' out in this yere country hosses hez got ter run like a scared coyote ter be any good in ther cow business."
"Yer reckon this yere Magpie can't run?" asked the old man, bristling.