Then he stepped close to the bars and gazed at the animal with the critical look of a connoisseur.
"Not a hair that ain't black," he muttered. "Black from ankle to ear; hoofs almost black, black in th' nostrils. Black horses generally have brown eyes, but you can't even tell where th' pupil is in his!
"Say, VB, he makes th' ace of spades look like new snow, don't he?"
"He does that!" cried VB, and putting his hands on the animal's back, he leaped lightly up, sitting sidewise on the broad hips and playing with the heavy tail.
"VB, I'm a— Lord, a thousand dollars for a new oath!"
At VB's suggestion they started back to the cabin.
"Why, boy, you're limpin'!" the old man exclaimed. "An' in both legs!" He stopped and looked the young fellow over from hat to heel. "One side of your face's all skinned. Looks as though your left hand'd all been smashed up, it's that swelled. You move like your back hurt, too—like sin. VB?"
The boy stopped and looked down at the ground. Then his eyes met those of the old rancher, and Jed Avery understood—he had seen the bond between man and horse; he realized what must have transpired between them.
And he knew the love that men can have for animals, something which, if you have never felt it, is far beyond comprehension. So he asked just this question: "How long?"
And VB answered: "Six days—from dawn till dark. One to get a halter on him, another to get my hand on his head; three days in the Scotch hobble, and the last—to ride him like a hand-raised colt."