“Size of a yearling! Three toes!”
The lad turned to his comrade in wild excitement.
“Oh, Antoine,” he said, “that must be a Mesohippus, the three-toed horse!”
The cowboy listened in astonishment.
“Say them words over slow,” put in Round-up Dick. “Did you remark a three-toed horse—a bronc’ with three hoofs on each foot?”
“Sure,” said Perry, “why not? There are horses with four toes, too.”
“Which I’ve got a pressin’ appointment at another part o’ the range,” said Round-up Dick, “an’ my pardner’ll be madder’n a Greaser cheated out of a cock-fight if I don’t adorn the landscape in his vicinity, but I’m tellin’ you right now that if there’s any chance o’ that critter bein’ a three-toed horse, I’ll point this bronc’s head for that spot an’ heat up that trail like it was bein’ fried. Will you ride?”
“Yes, yes,” said Antoine. “But, Mr. Round-up Dick, it may not be a three-toed horse, it may be a rhinoceros.”
The cowboy looked at him for a moment, first with a puzzled air, and then with disgust.
“Now I got the drop on the fact that you’re playin’ me along,” he said sourly, rolling another cigarette. “You c’n call it a nine-legged giraffe, if you like. For a minute there I thought you was playin’ with a straight deck.”