The man was still talking on the subject, when an old mouse colored horse, pulling an old wagon loaded down with vegetables, came to a stiff legged stop, and right by the telegraph pole on which the poster telling all about The Grey Cougar was nailed. The man in the lobby grinned a little at the sight of the old horse a standing there like in comparison with the famous grey outlaw, and pointing a finger in his direction, he remarked:
"There must be the Old Cougar right there, Clint. Anyway he's got the same color."
The man called Clint grinned some at the joke, but the grin soon faded away as he kept a looking at the old horse, and noticed the condition he was in,—then he seen the saddle-marks that was all over the pony's back, and he says:
"You can never tell, that old pony might of been mighty hard to set at one time too—but the way he looks like now, them times are sure done past and gone."
"Yep," agreed the other man, "it's a miracle that pony can navigate at all—I wonder how it is that this Humane Society hombre that's sticking around the rodeo grounds don't happen to notice such as this. I'd like to help hang a feller for driving a horse like that around."
The conversation was held up for a spell as the two men watched the bewhiskered man come out of the hotel with an empty basket and climbed the wagon on which the old mouse colored horse was hooked. He grabbed the lines and the whip both at the same time and went to work a putting the horse into a trot.
Clint was for getting up as he seen the whip land on the old pony's hide, but the other man grabbed a hold of his arm and says:
"Never mind, old boy, most likely that Humane Society outfit'll fall on that bolshevik's neck before he gets very far."
The man called Clint set down again, but he was boiling up inside, and he didn't at all look pleasant as the conversation was resumed and noticed how his friend turned it to other things and away from the subject of old horses and such. He wasn't for answering very quick when that same friend went on to talking about that country to the north;—how he'd heard rumors that the Rocking R might be selling out in another year or so. "I wonder why?" he asks.
Clint turned to his friend and grinning at his idea of changing the subject that way, finally answered: "I guess it's because Old Tom feels the end a coming, besides he's getting crowded all around by small outfits, and his range aint holding up like it used to."