"I have rested more in two minutes on the back of Shakra than I could rest in two hours on my bed."
It was like disarming a father by praise of his son.
"She has a gentle gait," smiled David.
"I tell you, man, she's a knockout!"
"A knockout?"
The gambler added hastily: "Next to Glani the best horse I have seen."
"You are right. Next to Glani the best in the valley."
"In the world," said Connor, and then gave a cry of wonder.
They had come through an avenue of the eucalyptus trees, and now they reached an open meadow, beyond which aspens trembled and flashed silver under a shock from the wind. Half the meadow was black, half green; for one of the old men was plowing. He turned a rich furrow behind him, and the blackbirds followed in chattering swarms in their hunt for worms. The plow team was a span of slender-limbed Eden Grays. They walked lightly with plow, shaking their heads at the blackbirds, and sometimes they touched noses in that cheery, dumb conversation of horses. The plow turned down the field with the sod curling swiftly behind. The blackbirds followed. There were soldier-wings among them making flashes of red, and all the swarm scolded.
"David," said Connor when he could speak, "you might as well harness lightning to your plow. Why in the name of God, man, don't you get mules for this work?"