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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.
"He's got a runnin' walk that is good for six miles an hour. He's a walkin' fool. And anything you git your rope on, he'll hold it till you're gray-headed and got whiskers. That ole hoss is the best cow-hoss in Antelope County and I'm referrin' you to Steve Brown to back me up. I bought that hoss from Steve. Any time you see the Box-S brand on a hoss, you can figure he's a good one."
"That bay ain't much account, Mr. Bartley. He's slow nothin' but a ole cow-hoss I kind of keep around for odd jobs of ropin' and such." "Well, he's good enough for me. I'll give you a hundred for him." Wishful scratched his head. He did not want to sell the bay for that sum, yet he was too good a sport to go back on his word. "Say, where was you raised?" he queried abruptly. "In Kentucky."
The fifth jump, however, was a masterpiece of rapid-fire contortion, and it was important because it left Andy on the ground, gazing, with an extremely grieved expression, at the uninterrupted convolutions of the "dandy little cow-hoss." The blue roan never stopped so much as to look back. He was busy exceedingly busy.
"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 wagon without sweatin' a hair.
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