“Two hundred and seventy-five, I said,” returned Phil.
“They’re yours, for cash.”
“Write out the receipt, then,” exclaimed the elder boy, and Ted again counted out the money. “That only leaves us one hundred and fifteen dollars until harvest time,” he said as the horse-dealer went away to get the team. “Wouldn’t it be best to buy on time, after all?”
“No, it wouldn’t. Mr. Hopkins said that is the way so many settlers lose out. These traders are sharpers, and if a man lacks five cents of the amount for a payment, they’ll take everything away from him.”
As Turner exchanged the receipt for the money, the boys hurried to inspect their latest purchases, and loud were they in their admiration of the powerful blacks.
“Are they vicious?” inquired Phil, cautiously, visions of trouble in harnessing and unharnessing such big creatures before his eyes.
“Gentle as lambs. Only thing you have to look out for is that they don’t step on you.”
“Better let us hitch ’em, Mr. Turner,” said Ted. “We’ve got to learn how sometime.” With a smile, the horse-dealer agreed; and he explained which was the nigh and which the off horse, and showed them how to handle the heavy harnesses.
Two or three trials, however, was necessary before the young homesteaders could harness and hitch in properly. At last, with Daisy and Pat on lead ropes, they drove from the barn and up to the store, where their purchases were duly loaded into the stout farm wagon.
Several men were lounging about when Phil and Ted drove up, and they commented freely upon the horses and the whole outfit, watching the boys closely.