"Besides, them grays is too small. Personally, I don't hanker after a runt of a hoss. I look like a fool on one of em."
The voice of Connor was full of hearty agreement.
"So do I. Yes, they're small, if they're all like that one. Too small. Much too small."
He looked narrowly at Townsend from the corner of his eyes to make sure that the hotel proprietor suspected nothing.
"This deaf-mute sells some, now and then?"
"Yep. He comes down once in a while and sells a hoss to the first gent he meets—and then walks back to the garden. Always geldings that he sells, I understand. Stand up under work pretty well, those little hosses. Harry Macklin has got one. Harry lives at Fort Andrew. There's a funny yarn out about how Harry—"
"What price does the mute ask?"
"Thinking of getting one of 'em?"
"Me? Of course not! What do I want with a runt of a horse like that? But I was wondering what they pay around here for little horses."
"I dunno."