AC dBooks

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"How old be you?" queried Annersley.
"Twelve, goin' on thirteen."
"Uh-huh. And the hoss?"
"Oh, he's got a little age on him, but that don't hurt him none."
Annersley's beard twitched. "He must 'a' been a colt for quite a
spell. But I ain't lookin' for a cow-hoss. What I want is a hoss that
I can work. How does he go in harness?"
"Harness! Say, mister, this here hoss can pull the kingpin out of a
wagon without sweatin' a hair. Hook him onto a plough and he sure can
make the ole plough smoke."
Annersley shook his head. "That's a mite too fast for me, son. I'd
hate to have to stop at the end of every furrow and pour water on that
there plough-point to keep her cool."
"'Course if you're lookin' for a _cheap_ hoss," said Young Pete,
nothing abashed, "why, we got 'em. But I was showin' you the best in
the string."
"Don't know that I want him. What you say he was worth?"
"He's worth a hundred, to any man. But we're sellin' him cheap, for
cash--forty dollars."
"Fifty," said the trader, "and if he ain't worth fifty, he ain't worth
puttin' a halter on.


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