He pointed to the cloddish, heavy-limbed gray which he had ridden in his quest for the superhorse at the Bridewell place.
"I been thinking," said Riley. "I been thinking a pile the last few minutes."
"What you been thinking about? What good does thinking do me? I've lost the horse, haven't I, and that half-wit has him?"
"He has him—now," suggested Riley, watching the face of the big man for fear that he might go too far.
"You mean by that?" queried the master.
"Exactly," said Riley. "Because he has the black now, it doesn't mean that he's going to have him forever, does it?"
"Riley, you're a devil. That fellow saved my life, they tell me."
"I don't mean you're going to bump him off. But suppose you get him to come and work on your place? There might be ways of getting the hoss—buying him or something. Get him there, and we'll find a way. Besides, he can teach you how to handle the hoss before you get him. I say it's all turned out for the best."
Dunbar frowned. "Take him with me? And every place I go I hear it said, 'There's the man who rode the horse that threw Dunbar!' No, curse him, I'll see him in Hades before I take him with me!"
"How else are you going to get the hoss? Tell me that?"