Buck winked at Dr. Finney. "I'll take Misty and her unborn."
Now Grandpa's blood was up. "Quit yer jokin'!"
"Who says I'm jokin'?"
In the waiting silence Misty poked her head inside the truck and the brown goat gave her a friendly butt. Misty came right back, asking for more.
"I give up!" Grandpa sighed. He pulled out his ancient leather purse and began fumbling inside, transferring bits of string and wire to a pocket. At last he held out a much-folded five-dollar bill. "This may seem mighty little to ye, but hoss-keepin' ain't what ye'd call profitable. Here, take it."
Buck Jackson chewed on a toothpick, thinking. "If I didn't say yes," he said at last, "even Misty here'd hate me. It's a deal, Clarence, and I'll throw in a bale of hay besides."
The transaction was quickly completed. But even with the nanny and her kid in the pickup, Paul didn't find it easier to say good-bye to Misty. "Don't ride her," he cautioned David. "She's going to have a colt."