Pete stepped over to the sheriff and
was about to enter a protest--offer to pay the board-bill against Blue
Smoke, when the bidding began with an offer of twenty-five dollars.
This was quickly run up to seventy-five when Pete promptly bid one
hundred, which was a fair auction price, although every man there knew
that Blue Smoke was worth more.
"I'm bid one hundred twenty-five," cried the auctioneer, as a young,
bow-legged cowboy raised Pete's bid.
"One-fifty," said Pete without hesitation.
The sheriff glanced at Pete, wondering if he would borrow the money
from Andover to make good his bid. But Pete was watching the
auctioneer's gavel--which happened to be a short piece of rubber
garden-hose. "Third and last chance!" said the auctioneer. "Nobody
want that pony as a present? All right--goin', I say! Goin', I say
_ag'in_! Gone! B' Gosh! at one hundred an' fifty dollars, to that
young gent over there that looks like he could ride him. What's the
name?"
"Pete Annersley."
Several in the crowd turned and gazed curiously at Pete. But Pete's
eyes were upon Blue Smoke--his horse--the horse that had carried him
faithfully so many desert miles--a cow-pony that could "follow a
mountain trail all day and finish, a-steppin' high.
Pages:
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525