I was too much excited to answer clearly; indeed, I hardly thanked him.
However, be scarcely gave me the chance. He kept up his talk about the
townspeople and their attitude toward Easterners until we arrived at a kind
of stock-yard full of shaggy little ponies. The sight of them drove every
other thought out of my head.

"Mustangs!" I exclaimed.

"Sure. Can you ride?"

"Oh yes. I have a horse at home. . . . What wiry little fellows! They're so
wild-looking."

"You pick out the one as suits you, an' I'll step into Cless's here. He's
the man who owns this bunch."

It did not take me long to decide. A black mustang at once took my eye.
When he had been curried and brushed he would be a little beauty. I was
trying to coax him to me when Buell returned with a man.

"Thet your pick?" he asked, as I pointed. "Well, now, you're not so much of
a tenderfoot. Thet's the best mustang in the lot. Cless, how much for him,
an' a pack-pony an' pack-saddle?"

"I reckon twenty dollars'll make it square," replied the owner.

This nearly made me drop with amazement. I had only about seventy-five
dollars left, and I had been very much afraid that I could not buy the
mustang, let alone the pack-pony and saddle.