as a machine."

"There ain't no horse that works like a machine," Marcus began.

"There's no way o' workin' that doesn't mean goin' to pole er
single - they never put me in the Power-machine - er under saddle,"
said Rick.

"Oh, shucks! We're talkin' same ez we graze," said Nip, "raound an'
raound in circles. Rod, we hain't heard from you yet, an' you've
more know-how than any span here."

Rod, the off-horse of the pair, had been standing with one hip
lifted, like a tired cow; and you could only tell by the quick
flutter of the haw across his eye, from time to time, that he was
paying any attention to the argument. He thrust his jaw out
sidewise, as his habit is when he pulls, and changed his leg. His
voice was hard and heavy, and his ears were close to his big, plain
Hambletonian head.

"How old are you?" he said to the yellow horse.

"Nigh thirteen, I guess."

"Mean age; ugly age; I'm gettin' that way myself. How long hev ye
been pawin' this firefanged stable-litter?"

"If you mean my principles, I've held 'em sence I was three."

"Mean age; ugly age; teeth give heaps o' trouble then. 'Set a colt