Pete realized that Andover
really wanted the horse and told him quietly to drop out when the
bidding reached two hundred, shrewdly estimating that neither the
liveryman nor the sheriff would go beyond that figure, as neither of
them really wanted the horse save as a speculation. "Then, if you want
him, raise twenty-five, and you get a mighty good horse for a hundred
less than he's worth. I know him. He's no good workin' cattle--but
he's one fine trail horse for straight goin'. And he's as gentle as
your gran'-mother."
The bidding ran to one hundred and seventy-five, when there was a
pause. The sheriff had dropped out. The liveryman, conferring with
his partner, was about to bid when Andover jumped the price to two
hundred and fifty.
"I'm through," said the liveryman.
"Sold to--name, please--sold to Doctor John Andover for two hundred and
fifty dollars," said the auctioneer. Then, after a facetious
dissertation on thoroughbreds as against cow-ponies, Blue Smoke was led
out. Pete's face went red. Then he paled. He had not forgotten that
Blue Smoke was to be sold, but he had taken it for granted that he
would be allowed to reclaim him.
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