Benton, with the eye of a connoisseur of horseflesh, quickly ran them over. “Pretty mixed bunch,” he mumbled, ungraciously.
“Well, yu’ ain’t buyin’ ’em, Sargint,” answered Gallagher, somewhat nettled at the other’s remark, and a silence ensued which was finally broken by Ellis “shooing” at a big Clyde-built mare, heavy in foal, that was hiding another horse from his view. The startled animal slowly waddled away, disclosing the aforementioned buckskin, which bad somehow escaped the Sergeant’s notice.
He quickly appraised its points. “Eyah,” he muttered; “now that’s some horse!”
And indeed his approval was justified for it was about as likely a looking specimen of the saddle-remount as one could wish to see, with the short, strong back, long, springy fetlocks, and powerful quarters that denoted speed and endurance no less than an easy gait.
“That sorrel ain’t a bad looker, either,” he pursued. “Are they saddle-broke, them two?”
“Yep,” said Gallagher shortly. “Yu’ kin take yore pick, Sargint, of anythin’ that’s in here.”
Benton, shading his eyes from the sun, scrutinized the two horses a little longer and then, leisurely dropping to the ground, slid into the saddle of Gallagher’s waiting horse.
“Guess I’ll have to borrow yore saddle and bridle a space, old-timer, if yu’ don’t mind,” he remarked. “Lord, but yu’ must be split to the chin. I’ll have to take these stirrups up a hole or two.”
Quickly unlacing the rawhide thongs, he adjusted them to his liking and, tying the horse’s halter-shank to the corral, unshipped the heavy stock-saddle and bridle, depositing them on the ground beside the fence.
The rancher’s high-heeled Kansas boots, with their huge-rowelled Mexican spurs, next attracted his attention and he stood for a moment silently eyeing them and his own broad-welted, flat-heeled footwear.