“I have been down to the meadow where you trapped those wild horses. You did a nice job, Tex.”
Tex grunted as he shoved the other half of the biscuit into his mouth.
The major added by way of defending himself against killing the mares:
“Not a single head worth rounding up.”
“I reckon not,” Tex agreed. Then he leaned forward and spoke with considered slowness: “The stud got away and he’s a winner. He outran my bay on level ground in a straightaway run.”
The major showed his interest at once. He had always wanted to capture a real wild stallion that had quality. He had an idea he could do some crossbreeding that might have interesting results.
“Stallion?” he asked.
“A black stud, long two-year-old. Fine racin’ legs, big chest, and the heart of a winner. He turned on me and come near knockin’ me out of my saddle.” Tex grinned as he remembered that charge.
The major smiled too, an eager smile. “He must have spirit. Racing legs and body—h-mmm.” He picked up a biscuit absently and crumbled the corner of it. Then he shot a penetrating glance at Tex and asked, “And you think you know his sire and dam?”
“That colt is out of Lady Ebony by the chestnut stud that led the wild band. The chestnut is the thief that stole your mare, major. The chestnut is gone, can’t figure exactly how he got killed, but I’m sure he’s dead. The black colt couldn’t handle him, not yet. But the black was running the band and he got the job too young.” Tex reached for another biscuit. “I reckon he’s learning fast, though.”