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Updated: May 26, 2025
"Frank," said the old man, "I wish you wouldn't be so blame keerless with your figures of speech. It don't sound pretty." The Bald-faced Kid took this reproof with a sober countenance, for he respected the old man's principles even if he did not understand them. "All right, old-timer. I'll take your word for it. Got a steady job, has he? For Heaven's sake, what doing?"
I looked at the bay, a bald-faced, fiddle-headed horse, and saw that, with no signs of breeding, it was still a big-boned animal with good shoulders and powerful hips. I thought it possible Fresnoy might be right, and if so, and the bay's manners were tolerable, it might do for mademoiselle better than the horse I had chosen.
"Well, well!" said the old man, turning back to Proverbs. "I was just readin' something here. 'He that seeketh mischief, it shall come unto him. Engle has been seekin' mischief a long time now and look what he's got." "Too true, old-timer," said the Bald-faced Kid, "but who was it ordered the mischief wrapped up and delivered to him? Come through!" "Hold up your right hand!" said Old Man Curry.
But now the price of beef cattle was off almost thirty dollars a bullock, and Woodford was in a position to lose more money than his bald-faced cattle-horse could carry in a sack. He had waited all along hoping for the tide to turn. Suddenly, to-day he had demanded his cattle. To-day, when Ward was on his back and the cattle far to the south across the Valley River.
The bald-faced, ugly-looking brute of a steer was soon running neck and neck with the well-mounted girl. Pratt followed. He was more interested in the outcome of the chase than he was in where his grey was putting his feet. There was an eerie yell behind them. Pratt saw a wild-looking, hatless cowboy racing a black pony toward them.
As Mose threw the rope over the bald-faced pinto the boys all chuckled and drew near, for they knew the character of the horse. Reynolds had said, "Take your pick o' the bunch," and Mose, with the eye of a horseman, had roped the pinto because of his size, depth of chest, and splendid limbs.
If I was you I'd peel the hide off that nigger for showing a horse up like that!" "No-o," said Old Man Curry, "I reckon I won't lick Mose this time. You forgot that Jeremiah is goin' in the last race to-morrow, didn't you?" "Jeremiah!" The Bald-faced Kid spoke with scorn. "Why, he bleeds every time out! It's a shame to start him!" "Maybe he won't bleed to-morrow, Frank." "He won't, eh?"
We turned the corner in a slow, deliberate trot, and there, as calmly as though it were the most natural thing in the world, was Cynthia, sitting as straight as a sapling on the high seat, with the reins held close in her left hand, and beside her Woodford, and jogging along before the cart was the bald-faced cattle-horse. A pretty picture in the cool shade of the golden autumn woods.
Couldn't they see he was riding the hoss as hard as he knew how? I don't say it was exackly honest, but " "Oho!" interrupted the Bald-faced Kid, "now I know why you had a front runner in that race! Between friends, old-timer, what was it Mose hollered at Elisha when he came alongside?"
"Well, sort of whisper to 'em that Eliphaz'll be a good bet the next time out." "If it's a dog race, there won't be any price on him," was the sulky response. "It won't be a dog race," said Old Man Curry. "It'll be a hoss race." A few days afterward the Bald-faced Kid picked up the overnight entry slip and there found something which caused him to emit a long, low whistle.
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