The owner smiled, but nodded to his hostler to rope and show the animals to the young men. Tad examined a dozen head, out of which he got three ponies, motioning to the hostler to tether them to one side where he could look them over again.

"What's the matter with the others?" asked the man.

"Various things. Some are wind-broken, two have the distemper, and if you don't watch out your whole herd will be getting it. I shall be rather afraid to buy any stock of you on that account. How long have they had the disease?"

"I didn't know they had it at all," stammered the owner.

"You had better watch them pretty carefully, then. How old is that buckskin?"

"Just coming four."

"Did somebody tell you that, or did you learn it from your own observation?" questioned Tad Butler sweetly.

"I reckon I know a hoss's age when I look at his mouth," answered the man, but not quite with the same a.s.surance that he had made his first statements. This clear-eyed, quiet young man, he began to understand, knew a little something about horses, or at least pretended to.

"Then, sir, you have neglected your horse education. The buckskin is twelve years old," declared Butler firmly.

"Mebby I might have made a mistake in looking at his mouth when I got him," answered the owner apologetically.

Suppressed grins might have been observed on the faces of the other boys, who were still sitting on the paddock fence. They were leaving all matters pertaining to the stock in Butler's hands, knowing full well that Tad's judgment was better than theirs.

In turn the lad once more examined the horses he had chosen, then added to them enough to make up their allotment.

"Stacy, you are quite sure you want the black?" he questioned.

The fat boy nodded.

"He has a slight ringbone," Tad informed him.

"All the better."

"Why do you say that? I never knew that a ringbone increased the value of a horse."

"A horse that wears rings must be a pretty cla.s.sy horse," replied the fat boy. "Me for the horse with the jewelry. Put a pair of natty boots on him and there you have an outfit that would make a Mexican part with his spurs."

"Pshaw!" grunted Ned. "Very fancy, but not much good for real work."

"Stacy doesn't mean that," answered Tad with a tolerant smile.

"Yes, I do mean it."

"We need a pack mule," said Butler, turning to the owner. "Can you tell us where we may get one or two?"

"Why, I've got just the critters you want. They're in the yard just back of the stables. Say, Jim, drive out the mules."

There were five mules in the pack driven out for their examination.

These started slowly moving about in a circle with heads well down, trailing each other as if following a regular routine.

"Fine young stock, hardy and true and quick," said the owner, rubbing his palms together.

"We don't want any quick one. We've had some experience with the quick kind," declared Stacy Brown. "They were so quick I couldn't get out of the way of their heels. No, siree, no quick mules for mine."

"I don't think you need worry much about these," smiled Tad. "How much do you ask for those fellows?"

"How many?"

"Two. I to take my pick."

"A hundred apiece."

"I wouldn't give that for the lot of them," scoffed Chunky.

"Keep still. You aren't making this bargain," rebuked Ned, giving the fat boy a poke in the ribs.

Tad made a brief calculation on a slip of paper, then he looked up severely.

"Five ponies at seventy-five dollars would amount to three hundred and seventy-five dollars. Two mules at forty each would be eighty more, making a total of four hundred and fifty-five dollars," said Butler.

"I'll tell you what I will do. I will give you an even four hundred for the five ponies I have picked out and the two mules that I shall choose."

"Outrageous!" exploded the owner. "Why, those mules are worth half of the price you offer for the whole outfit."

"Nonsense! Those mules have been used on crushers in the mines. Any one could see that by watching them mill about in a circle--"

"Five hundred dollars," broke in the owner.

"Nothing doing, sir," answered Tad. "Four hundred even."

"I'll make it four-fifty-five and not a cent less."

"Come along, fellows. I know where we can get a better lot for the money, anyway," declared Tad with a note of finality in his tone.

"Don't I get my skate?" wailed Chunky.

"Not at the price he asks. Never mind, I'll find you something better for the money." Tad had already started away. His companions got slowly down from the fence and followed, while the owner of the stock stood mopping his forehead.

"Here, take 'em!" he cried. "I might as well give them away, I suppose.

I need the money, but you're getting them for nothing."

"You are wrong. As it is we are paying you a hundred dollars more than the outfit is worth. Here is your money. Give me a receipt in full. We will get the stock out some time this afternoon."

"You're the hardest driver of a bargain I ever come up with," protested the man.

"You know you don't mean that. If we hadn't known something about horses you know you would have done us to a turn," answered Tad, laughing.

"Yes, I do believe in driving a bargain, but I wouldn't ask a man to sell me a thing at a lower price than it was worth. Just keep these animals cut out if you will, unless you want to go to the bother of cutting them out again."

"I got my skate," grinned Chunky as they were walking back towards the hotel where they were to meet the Professor. The latter had given Butler the money for the stock earlier in the day, knowing full well that Tad could make a much better bargain than could he. Tad had made a fair bargain. He had obtained a good lot of stock and he planned, furthermore, to sell the animals after finishing their journey, which would reduce the cost at least to a nominal sum.

The rest of the day was devoted to gathering supplies and packing. The boys had brought their saddles, bridles and other equipment of this nature with them, including tents and lighter camp equipment. In the meantime they had looked about for a guide, but without success. They were told that no doubt they would be able to find a man for their purpose upon their arrival at Yakutat, a hundred miles further on. The trail to that place, their informant told them, was a post trail which they would find no difficulty in following. The post rider would not be going through for another three days, and at any rate he undoubtedly would travel faster than they cared to do. It was decided, therefore, that they should start out without a guide on the morrow and make their way to Yakutat as best they might.