straggling hairs served rather to exaggerate than to conceal the vicious
expression of a hare-lipped mouth. He stood with his elbow in the palm
of one hand and his chin in the other, while around his legs a pack of
wolf-like dogs crawled and growled as the traveler drew near. Throwing
himself lightly to the ground the intruder kicked the curs who sprang
at him, and as the terrified pack went howling into the door of the
tent, said cheerily.

"Good-morning, Baltasar."

The gypsy acknowledged his salutation with a frown.

"I wish to sell this horse," the traveler added, without appearing to
notice his cold reception.

The gypsy swept his eye over the animal and shook his head.

"If you will not buy, perhaps you will trade," the traveler said.

"Come," was the laconic response, and so saying, the gypsy turned
towards the forest which lay just beyond the camp. The "doctor" obeyed,
and the dogs sneaked after him, still growling, but keeping a respectful
distance. A moment later he found himself in a sequestered spot where
there was an improvised stable; and a dozen or more horses glancing up
from their feed whinnied a welcome.

"Look zem over," said the gypsy, again putting his elbow in his left
hand and his chin in his right--a posture into which he always fell when
in repose.