“That warn’t a black, that was my dapple bay.”
“Just as if I didn’t know the difference between a dapple bay and a black, Lem Petersen,” snapped the girl. “These boys have lost a black, with a new halter like the one you was leading. Better give it back to them—and save trouble.”
“I tell you, I ain’t—” began Petersen, angrily, only to be interrupted by a loud whinny from the heavy brush to the right of the group.
Like a flash Ted leaped his pony into the undergrowth, and before the others could follow, he shouted:
“Here he is. Here’s our black tied to a tree. Wait there and I’ll lead him out.”
“You leave that horse be!” roared Petersen. “He’s mine. I bought him from—”
“Never knew you to buy a horse, Lem. Thought you boasted you didn’t have to ’cause you could always get enough for debt,” broke in the old man.
This thrust seemed to render Petersen speechless with fury, and before he could find words to express himself, Ted reappeared, leading the runaway black.
“Dapple bay, is it? You’d better have your eyes examined, Lem,” taunted the girl.
In the face of the discovery that he had lied, Petersen screamed: