We come outer Missouri ter see what could be
did in this yere new country, an' it's mighty hard sleddin'."
"What's ther trouble?"
"Well, stranger, so long ez yer kind ernuff ter inquire, I'll tell yer."
"I'm listenin'."
"I'm too old ter work at ther only thing what seems ter be out
yere--cow-punchin'--an' ther kiddie is too young. Now, if 'twas farmin',
we'd be in it."
"Thar ain't no more farmin' out yere than a rabbit, thet's shore. What
might yer bizness be at home?"
"I'm a hoss trader."
"Thar ought ter be somethin' doin' out yere fer yer, then. All thar is
in this country is hosses an' cattle."
"They ain't my kind o' hosses."
"Yer don't seem ter fancy cow ponies, eh?"
"I reckon they're all right in their way, podner, but they're a leetle
too wild fer me to break, an' the kid's not strong enough."
"Askin' questions seems ter be fash'n'ble. Whar did yer git thet magpie
hoss?"
Bud was looking over the old man's mount, a beautiful little
black-and-white-spotted pony, as clean limbed as a racer, and with a
round and compact body.
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