“A real Texas mustang,” said Jim, reverently.
“He’s a bit small even for a Western cow pony,” said the trader, sitting down on the edge of the water tank. “In fact there’s a lot of things about this horse that are different from most mustangs.”
“What?”
“Well,” drawled the old man, filling his pipe, “I’m in no hurry to get up on that jolting seat again. Just set here awhile and I’ll tell you a little about Western horses, specially this one.”
“Swell,” said Jim enthusiastically. “Can I hold the horse?”
The old man passed over the halter rope and Jim sat happily on the well platform holding on to the end of the tether. The horse looked at both of them for a moment and then calmly started to crop the grass.
“Western horses usually run pretty wild for three years or so,” began the old man. “Then they’re broken for riding. They break Western horses quick and rough and most of them buck every time they’re saddled. A ranch horse is worked only four or five months a year and then only three or four days a week. Most of them, except the favorites, never get to know a man real well and so usually they don’t show much affection.” He paused to relight his corn-cob pipe. Reflectively he gazed on the glowing coal and drew on the pipe stem noisily while Jim waited impatiently.
“This little feller is different. Plenty of spirit, but about as gentle a horse as I’ve ever seen. Gentle, that is, if he likes you. In the five days I’ve had him I can tell he’d develop a real likin’ for anybody that treated him at all reasonable.”
“I’ll bet he would,” agreed Jim, looking at the horse.
“He’s a good horse, but I don’t know just what I’ll do with him. He’s not a work horse—too small for heavy work. He’s really a saddle horse and people in these parts don’t go much for saddle horses unless they’re rich people. Then they want something fancy like a Kentucky saddle horse. But I felt sorry for this critter and I bought him.”