George in Camp; or, Life on the Plains

by Harry Castlemon

“I call him Silk Stocking—sometimes Socks, for short.”

As the stranger said this, he sprang upon Ned’s horse, looked behind him once more as if to make sure that there was no one following him, and then waved his hand to the boy and galloped away. Ned stood looking first at him and then at his new horse, fully expecting to see the man turn about and come back to trade over again. But he did nothing of the kind. He kept straight ahead (Ned had no idea that his old horse could travel as fast as he did), turning in his saddle now and then to look behind him, and at last he disappeared over a swell. Then Ned, with a long breath of relief, turned to give his new horse another good looking over.

The animal’s name—Silk Stocking—suited him exactly. His color was a very dark chestnut; but his mane and tail were as white as snow, and so were his feet and his legs, too, as high up as his knees, and he had a white star in his forehead. The longer his delighted owner looked at him the handsomer he seemed to grow.

“That man, whoever he may be, is a born dunce,” was Ned’s mental comment. “He says he knows a good horse when he sees one, but I don’t believe it. Why, I know more than he does. I’d never trade a horse like this for an old crowbait like mine. I’d take a day longer for my journey, no matter how great the hurry I might be in.”

Ned chuckling to himself over his good fortune, fastened his horse to a swinging branch of the oak, and proceeded to bundle up his blanket and poncho which he tied behind his saddle. While he was pulling up the picket-pin and curling his lasso, a startling suspicion suddenly sprung up in his mind. He stopped his work and looked at his horse and then at the ridge over which he had seen the stranger disappear.

“I wonder why I didn’t think of that before!” said Ned, to himself. “He was very careful to inquire if I owned the horse I traded to him, but it never occurred to me to ask him how he came by this one. Well, I don’t know that it makes so very much difference after all,” he added, after a moment’s reflection. “If he stole the horse—and if he didn’t steal him why was he so anxious to trade?—he could have told a lie about it very easily, and no doubt he would.”

Ned was not at all pleased with the thought, which now kept forcing itself upon him, that perhaps he had not made so fine a bargain after all. If the horse was a stolen one, and the lawful owner should succeed in tracing him, he could demand his property, and Ned would have to give it up. This was something he did not want to do. He had already taken a great liking to his new horse, and could not bear the thought of parting with him.

“And I never will part with him either, if I can help it,” declared Ned, after he had taken time to think over the situation. “I was going to show him to father as soon as I got home, but now I’ll just keep still about him. It isn’t likely that he was stolen anywhere in the county, and perhaps the owner will never be able to get on the track of him. I’ll hold fast to him as long as I can, at any rate, and keep his existence a profound secret, and if his owner ever finds him I can say——Well, what’s the use of thinking about that now? I can make up a story on the spur of the moment that will get me out of the tightest scrape a boy ever got into. At least I always have been able to do it!”

With this reflection to comfort and encourage him Ned hung his lasso upon the horn of his saddle, mounted his new horse and set out for home. The animal moved off at a free walk until Ned called on him to go faster, and then he broke into a rapid gallop; but his motions were so regular and easy that his rider was scarcely moved in the saddle. Ned was a little afraid of him at first, for he carried his head high and kept his ears thrown forward and his eyes roving about as if he were trying to find something to get frightened at; but he could be very easily controlled, and Ned could stop him while he was going at the top of his speed by a single word. He seemed perfectly willing to travel at his best speed all the time, but Ned, after enjoying the rapid motion for a few minutes, gently checked him, and then the animal settled down into an easy pace. He proved to be what the natives would have called a gated horse; that is, he had been broken to amble, fox-trot, pace, run or square trot, just as his rider desired. Ned knew that some of the ranchemen in the neighborhood had paid two thousand dollars apiece for just such horses.

“I declare it frightens me to think of it,” said Ned, and almost involuntarily he faced about in his saddle and looked behind him, just as the stranger had done, to see if there was any one following him.