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"I guess you ain't ever been up Montana way," said the stranger in disgust which he hardly veiled. "Not much," said Sinclair blandly. "I wished that I was back up there. This is a hole of a country down here." "Hossflesh and time will take you back, I reckon." "I reckon they will, when my job's done." He turned a disparaging eye upon Sour Creek and its vicinity.
"If yer laughin' at ther idea o' Hatrack beatin' ther magpie hoss, don't yer do it, fer thet's showin' ignerance o' hossflesh, an' I thought yer wuz too well brought up at Moon Valley ter think thet pretty spots on a hoss hez anythin' ter do with his ability ter make a race er hold a cow."
"D'you think I'd have a chance with him even if you showed me how?" "You got to have a way with hosses," admitted the boy, and he examined Bull again. "But I think you'll get on with hossflesh pretty well. When Diablo first come, he used to go plumb crazy when anybody come near his corral. He still does if a growed man comes there.
Sympathy was not readily on tap in Riley's nature. "Hossflesh" to Riley was purely and simply a means to an end. Neither had he paused to enjoy that mystery of change which comes over mountains between late afternoon and early evening. His keen eyes answered all his purposes, and that they had never learned to see blue in shadows meant nothing to Riley Sinclair.
"Thar ain't nary time what I won't run a race if I think thar's ary merit in my hossflesh. How erbout ther animile what yer sits on so graceful?" "Oh, I reckon he kin ride rings eround ther magpie hoss," said Bud, who was a trifle nettled at the old man's jeering tone. "Yer certain got a lot o' confidence in a dead one."
But they ain't fit for driving. Jim Courteval, who lives up the road a piece, now he's got some hossflesh wuth owning. But our old crowbaits ain't nothing." "Don't you love to take care of them and brush them and all that?" cried the girl, eagerly. "Not much I don't! I reckon if old Sam and Lightfoot felt a currycomb once more they'd have a fit. And you ought to see our cow! Gee!
"What for?" asked Dick, somewhat bewildered by the unceremonious way in which he was being handled. "I didn't steal that horse." "Too thin, sonny. All you boomers are a set of thieves, and I suppose you think stealing our hossflesh is the rarest kind of a joke. Out with those hands, I say, and consider yourself a prisoner of Uncle Sam.
That's a lot of cash if you win. If you lose, you're just out that much hossflesh, and I'll give you a good enough cayuse to take El Sangre's place." "A dozen wouldn't take his place," insisted Terry. "That so?" Pollard leaned back in his chair and put a hand behind his neck to support his head. It seemed to Terry that the big man made some odd motion with his hidden fingers.
"'Tis not every Ecclesthorpe fixture," he said, "as we gets a comely wench for maascot. Us be trustin' our hossflesh to you " "Hosses is Grudgers', an' t' lass is mine," interrupted Dick, smiling. "But there be Parson Mallaby to make we mind our manners," objected Redface. "T' cloth," said Dick, "is a good thing. And blood's a better," and so marched his daughter to the front of the brake.
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