Annersley's beard twitched. "He must 'a' been a colt for quite a spell. But I ain't lookin' for a cow-hoss. What I want is a hoss that I can work. How does he go in harness?"
"Harness! Say, mister, this here hoss can pull the kingpin out of a wagon without sweatin' a hair. Hook him onto a plough and he sure can make the ole plough smoke."
Annersley shook his head. "That's a mite too fast for me, son. I'd hate to have to stop at the end of every furrow and pour water on that there plough-point to keep her cool."
"'Course if you're lookin' for a cheap hoss," said Young Pete, nothing abashed, "why, we got 'em. But I was showin' you the best in the string."
"Don't know that I want him. What you say he was worth?"
"He's worth a hundred, to any man. But we're sellin' him cheap, for cash—forty dollars."
"Fifty," said the trader, "and if he ain't worth fifty, he ain't worth puttin' a halter on. Fifty is givin' him to you."
"So? Then I reckon I don't want him. I wa'n't lookin' for a present. I was lookin' to buy a hoss."
The trader saw a real customer slipping through his fingers. "You can put a halter on him for forty—cash."
"Nope. Your pardner here said forty,"—and Annersley smiled at Young Pete. "I'll look him over ag'in for thirty."