"Who's ther kid?"

"Thet boy is my grandson. We come outer Missouri ter see what could be did in this yere new country, an' it's mighty hard sleddin'."

"What's ther trouble?"

"Well, stranger, so long ez yer kind ernuff ter inquire, I'll tell yer."

"I'm listenin'."

"I'm too old ter work at ther only thing what seems ter be out yere--cow-punchin'--an' ther kiddie is too young. Now, if 'twas farmin', we'd be in it."

"Thar ain't no more farmin' out yere than a rabbit, thet's sh.o.r.e. What might yer bizness be at home?"

"I'm a hoss trader."

"Thar ought ter be somethin' doin' out yere fer yer, then. All thar is in this country is hosses an' cattle."

"They ain't my kind o' hosses."

"Yer don't seem ter fancy cow ponies, eh?"

"I reckon they're all right in their way, podner, but they're a leetle too wild fer me to break, an' the kid's not strong enough."

"Askin' questions seems ter be fash'n'ble. Whar did yer git thet magpie hoss?"

Bud was looking over the old man's mount, a beautiful little black-and-white-spotted pony, as clean limbed as a racer, and with a round and compact body. It was a bizarre-looking little animal, with a long, black mane and tail, at the roots of which was a round, white spot. It was the sort of animal that would attract attention anywhere.

"Magpie! Podner, I riz her from a colt."

"She's sh.o.r.e a showy beast."

"She is some on ther picture, ain't she?" asked the old man, looking the pony over admiringly.

"She's all right, but--"

"But what, podner?" The old man looked at Bud with a frown.

"Well, I ain't none on knockin' another man's hoss, but I never see one o' them black-an'-white-spotted animiles what could do more than lope, an' out in this yere country hosses hez got ter run like a scared coyote ter be any good in ther cow business."

"Yer reckon this yere Magpie can't run?" asked the old man, bristling.

"I ain't said so."

"Well, yer alluded ter a magpie hoss as couldn't do nothin' but lope."

"I ain't never see none what could do much more."

"You ain't never see Magpie split ther wind, then."

"I ain't."

"Mebbe ye'd like ter."

"Mebbe I would."

"I reckon yer thinks ther cow what yer a-straddlin' of now kin run some."

"A leetle bit. But, yer see, when I got him he was a broken-down cow hoss what hed been ridden ter death an' fed on sand an' alkali water so long thet he wa'n't much good nohow."

"Jest picked him up wanderin'?"

"Not eggsactly. Yer see, it wuz this way: I was coming ercross Noo Mexico about a month back, when I runs foul o' a hombre what is all in.

He hadn't et fer so long thet yer could see ther b.u.mps made by his backbone through his shirt. I hed some grub in my war bag, an' I fed an'

watered him. This yer nag wuz all in, too, an' he hed a long way ter go, so when ther feller ups an' perposes ter trade ponies I give him ther merry cachinnation."

"Ther what?"

"Ther laugh."

"Go ahead, podner, yer sh.o.r.e hez a splendid education."

"I see thet he'll never git ter whar he's goin' on ther nag, an' I thinks I'll do him a favor by sittin' him on a piece o' live hossmeat, an' I said I'd trade if he hed anythin' ter boot. Now, what do yer think he hed?"

"I ain't got a notion."

"A pack o' Mexican cigareets what burned like a bresh fire an' smelled like a wet dog under a stove."

"Haw, haw! An' yer traded?"

"I thought some fust, an' then I thinks what's ther odds? Thar's plenty o' hosses in camp, an' it'll probably save ther feller's life ter let him hev ther pony, what ain't none out o' ther common, so I says, 'It's a go, pard.' I clumb down an' we changed saddles, an' he handed over ther pack o' cigareets an' we went our ways."

"Yer sh.o.r.e is a kind-hearted man."

"I ain't, neither. I jest knows a hoss when I sees one."

"Yer don't call thet a hoss yer a-straddlin', I hope?"

"I sh.o.r.e do. He ain't much fer ter gaze on admirin', I agree, but he's a good little cayuse. I reckon, now, yer some proud o' thet magpie hoss."

"I be. It kin outrun anythin' this side o' ther State o' Newbrasky."

"P'r'aps yer lookin' fer a race ter see what ther best we've got in camp kin do, no?"

"Thar ain't nary time what I won't run a race if I think thar's ary merit in my hossflesh. How erbout ther animile what yer sits on so graceful?"

"Oh, I reckon he kin ride rings eround ther magpie hoss," said Bud, who was a trifle nettled at the old man's jeering tone.

"Yer certain got a lot o' confidence in a dead one."