“You heard rightly,” said Carroll.
“Wall, I've got a pair that can't be beat. Kentucky bred, four-year-old, sound as a whip. Not an out.”
“Are you a trader?”
“Yep. Hed them hosses in last week. New-Yorker jest sent for 'em, then he died sudden, and his heirs threw 'em on the market at a sacrifice.”
Carroll looked at the men, and they looked at him. The two men in the runabout resembled each other, and were evidently brothers. Carroll's eyes on the men were sharp, so were theirs on him. Carroll's eyes were looking for knavery, and the men's were looking for suspicion of knavery.
“How much?” asked Carroll, finally.
The men looked at each other. One made a motion with his lips; the other nodded.
“Fifteen hundred,” said the first speaker, “and damned cheap.”
“Well, you can bring them around, and I'll look at them,” said Carroll. “Any night after seven.”
Carroll walked on, turning up the road which led to his own house, and the men whirled about again and then drove on, the mare breaking into a gallop.