"I want Silver for my string!" cried the Kid, artfully
transferring his appeal to the higher court. "I can ride
him--'cause I have rode him, in the pasture; and he never
bucked once or kicked or anything. Doggone it, he likes to
have me ride him! He comes a-runnin' up to me when I go down
there, and I give him sugar. And then he waits till I climb
on his back, and then we chase the other horses and play ride
circle He wants to be my string!" Something in the feel of
his mother's arm around his shoulder whispered hope to the
Kid. He looked up at her with his most endearing smile. "You
come down there and I'll show you," he wheedled. "We're pals.
And I guess YOU wouldn't like to have the boys call you Tom
Thumb, a-ridin' Stubby. He's nothing but a five-cent sample
of a horse. Big Medicine says so. I--I'd rather walk than
ride Stubby. And I'm going on roundup. The boys said I could
go when I get a real horse under me--and I want Silver. Daddy
Chip said 'yes' I could have him. And now he's Injun-giver.
Can't I have him, Doctor Dell?"

The gray-blue eyes clashed with the brown. "It wouldn't hurt
anything to let the poor little tad show us what he can do,"
said the gray-blue eyes.

"Oh--all right," yielded the brown, and their owner threw the
iron bar upon the cooling forge and began to turn down his
sleeves. "Why don't you make him wear a hat?" he asked
reprovingly. "A little more and he won't pay any attention to
anything you tell him. I'd carry out that sunbonnet bluff,
anyway, if I were you."