fer so long thet yer could see ther bumps made by his
backbone through his shirt. I hed some grub in my war bag, an' I fed an'
watered him. This yer nag wuz all in, too, an' he hed a long way ter go,
so when ther feller ups an' perposes ter trade ponies I give him ther
merry cachinnation."

"Ther what?"

"Ther laugh."

"Go ahead, podner, yer shore hez a splendid education."

"I see thet he'll never git ter whar he's goin' on ther nag, an' I
thinks I'll do him a favor by sittin' him on a piece o' live hossmeat,
an' I said I'd trade if he hed anythin' ter boot. Now, what do yer think
he hed?"

"I ain't got a notion."

"A pack o' Mexican cigareets what burned like a bresh fire an' smelled
like a wet dog under a stove."

"Haw, haw! An' yer traded?"

"I thought some fust, an' then I thinks what's ther odds? Thar's plenty
o' hosses in camp, an' it'll probably save ther feller's life ter let
him hev ther pony, what ain't none out o' ther common, so I says, 'It's
a go, pard.' I clumb down an' we changed saddles, an' he handed over
ther pack o' cigareets an' we went our ways."

"Yer shore is a kind-hearted man."

"I ain't, neither. I jest knows a hoss when I sees one."

"Yer don't call thet a hoss yer a-straddlin', I hope?"

"I shore do. He ain't much fer ter gaze on admirin', I agree, but he's a
good little cayuse. I reckon, now, yer some proud o' thet magpie hoss."

"I be. It kin outrun anythin' this side o' ther State o' Newbrasky."

"P'r'aps yer lookin' fer a race ter see what ther best we've got in camp
kin do, no?"

"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."

"I reckernize ther fact that he ain't none pretty, but handsome is as
handsome does. Hatrack is some shy on meat an' he's got a temper like a
disappointed woman, ter say nothin' o' havin' had ther botts, ringbone,
heaves, an' spavin', but he's a good nag, fer all thet, an' would be
good-lookin' ernough if his wool wasn't wore off in so many places."

"Haw, haw! He ain't what ye'd call a show animile."

"He ain't, but, say, stranger, he _kin_ run."

"What d'ye say ter a leetle brush betwixt Magpie an' yer Hatrack?"

"I'm ther gamest thing what ever yer see when it