"Thirty-five!" called the man who had raised the bidding before.
"Thirty-six," from Ripley.
"Thirty-eight!" called the man.
"Thirty-nine!" offered Fred, though he was beginning to perspire freely.
"Forty!" promptly offered the man.
"Forty-one!" said Fred.
And there it hung. After three minutes more of hard work on the auctioneer's part the pony went to Ripley at forty-one dollars.
"I don't know what my father will say to me for this," groaned the lawyer's son. "But, anyway, Prescott and his crew didn't get the chestnut pony, and this is the last piece of live stock, so there's none left for them."
He cast a triumphant look in the direction of those whom he termed "the mucker boys."
"Rip was bidding to keep us from getting a look-in!" whispered
Tom Reade gleefully.