“What’s the matter with the others?” asked the man.
“Various things. Some are wind-broken, two have the distemper, and if you don’t watch out your whole herd will be getting it. I shall be rather afraid to buy any stock of you on that account. How long have they had the disease?”
“I didn’t know they had it at all,” stammered the owner.
“You had better watch them pretty carefully, then. How old is that buckskin?”
“Did somebody tell you that, or did you learn it from your own observation?” questioned Tad Butler sweetly.
“I reckon I know a hoss’s age when I look at his mouth,” answered the man, but not quite with the same assurance that he had made his first statements. This clear-eyed, quiet young man, he began to understand, knew a little something about horses, or at least pretended to.
“Then, sir, you have neglected your horse education. The buckskin is twelve years old,” declared Butler firmly.
“Mebby I might have made a mistake in looking at his mouth when I got him,” answered the owner apologetically.
Suppressed grins might have been observed on the faces of the other boys, who were still sitting on the paddock fence. They were leaving all matters pertaining to the stock in Butler’s hands, knowing full well that Tad’s judgment was better than theirs.