"This here animal is sound, safe, and a child could ride him," asserted
Young Pete as he led the languid and underfed pony to the wagon. "He's
got good action." Pete climbed to the wagon-wheel and mounted
bareback. "He don't pitch, bite, kick, or balk." The horse, used to
being shown, loped a few yards, turned and trotted back. "He
neck-reins like a cow-hoss," said Pete, "and he can turn in a ten-cent
piece. You can rope from him and he'll hold anything you git your rope
on."

"Reckon he would," said Annersley, and his eyes twinkled. "'Specially
a hitchin'-rail. Git your rope on a hitchin'-rail and I reckon that
hitchin'-rail would never git away from him."

"He's broke right," reasserted Young Pete. "He's none of your ornery,
half-broke cayuses. You ought to seen him when he was a colt! Say, 't
wa'n't no time afore he could outwork and outrun any hoss in our bunch."

"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