“This is no buckin’,” the other answered, “it’s jest a little playfulness. No graveyard plug for mine, thanks. Where’s your side-partner?”
“Coming right now,” answered Perry, as Antoine came round the end of the depot at a smart pace.
Round-up Dick gave a whoop, loosed his reins, and the broncho broke into a full run. The other two horses followed, and Perry, wild with delight, found that the queer-looking pinto that Antoine had brought for him was well able to keep up with the others. If anything, it was a trifle faster than his comrade’s mount, though the cowboy’s mare undoubtedly had the better stride. After a few minutes of the swift pace, the town was out of sight, and Round-up Dick pulled his pony down to a loping gait.
“You said a million years?” he queried.
“Three million would be nearer the mark,” the lad replied.
“You chuck millions o’ years around like a sport would chuck dimes to a bunch o’ Greaser kiddies,” he remarked. “Jest drive a shaft into this thick skull o’ mine an’ show me how you c’n tell about three-toed horses an’ the rest o’ the layout.”
Perry looked at Antoine, but the young paleontologist replied, in answer to the look:
“You tell him, Perry, you can make it plainer than I can.”
The boy pulled his ear meditatively.
“All right, Antoine,” he said, “I’ll do my best.”