d the horse and master shook hands with their
left. "I learned him that," said the cowboy, with pride and affection.
"Say, Pede," he continued, in Pedro's ear, "ain't yu' the best little
horse in the country? What? Here, now! Keep out of that, you dead-beat!
There ain't no more bread." He pinched the pony's nose, one quarter of
which was wedged into his pocket.

"Quite a lady's little pet!" said Balaam, with the rasp in his voice.
"Pity this isn't New York, now, where there's a big market for harmless
horses. Gee-gees, the children call them."

"He ain't no gee-gee," said Shorty, offended. "He'll beat any cow-pony
workin' you've got. Yu' can turn him on a half-dollar. Don't need to
touch the reins. Hang 'em on one finger and swing your body, and he'll
turn."

Balaam knew this, and he knew that the pony was only a four-year-old.
"Well," he said, "Drybone's had no circus this season. Maybe they'd buy
tickets to see Pedro. He's good for that, anyway."

Shorty became gloomy. The Virginian was grimly smoking. Here was
something else going on not to his taste, but none of his business.

"Try a circus," persisted Balaam. "Alter your plans for spending cash in
town, and make a little money instead."

Shorty having no plans to alter and no cash to spend, grew still more
gloomy.

"What'll you take for that pony?" said Balaam.

Shorty spoke up instantly. "A hundred dollars couldn't buy that piece
of stale mud off his back," he asserted, looking off into the sky
grandiosely.

But Balaam looked at Shorty, "You keep the mud," he said, "and I'll give
you thirty dollars for the horse."

Shorty did a little professional laughing, and began to walk toward his
saddle.

"Give you thirty dollars," repeated Balaam, picking a stone up and
slinging it into the river.

"How far do yu' call it to Drybone?" Shorty remarked, stooping to
investigate the bucking-strap on his saddle--a superfluous performance,
for Pedro never bucked.

"You won't have to walk," said Balaam. "Stay all night, and I'll send
you over comfortably in the morning, when the wagon goes for the mail."

"Walk?" Shorty retorted. "Drybone's twenty-five miles. Pedro'll put me
there in three hours and not know he done it." He lifted the saddle on
the horse's back. "Come, Pedro," said he.

"Come, Pedro!" mocked Balaam.

There followed a little silence.

"No, sir," mumbled Shorty, with his head under Pedro's belly, busily
cinching. "A hundred dollars is bottom f