"Uh-huh? I reckon he did. And you ain't forgot what a real hoss looks
like, either." Wishful's pensive countenance lighted suddenly. "You'll
be wantin' a rig--saddle and bridle and slicker and saddle-bags. Now I
got just what you want."

Bartley stepped to the stable and inspected the outfit. It was old and
worn, and worth, Bartley estimated, about thirty dollars, all told.

"I'll let you have the whole outfit--hoss and rig and all, for two
hundred," stated Wishful unblushingly.

"I priced a saddle, over in the shop across from the station, this
morning," said Bartley.

"With bridle and blanket and saddle-pockets it would only stand me
ninety dollars. If the bay is the poorest horse you own, then at your
figure this outfit would come rather high."

"I might 'a' knowed it!" stated Wishful. "Say, Mr. Bartley, give me a
hundred and fifty for the hoss and I'll throw in the rig."

"No. I know friendship ceases when a horse-trade begins; but I am only
taking you at your word."

"I sure done overlooked a bet, this trip," said Wishful. "Say, I reckon
you must 'a' cut your first tooth on a cinch-ring. I done learnt
somethin' this mornin'. Private eddication comes high, but I'm game.
Write your check for a hundred--and take the bay. By rights I ought to
give him to you, seein as how you done roped and branded me for a