he possessed. After the boy had commented on
several, Rifle-Eye pointed out first one and then a second which he had
previously decided on as being the best animals for the boy. But
Wilbur's eye was attracted to a fine sorrel, and, turning to Rifle-Eye,
he said decidedly:

"I want that one!"

The old Ranger, remarking quietly that it was a fine horse, but not
suitable to the purpose for which Wilbur wanted the animal, passed on to
the discussion of several other ponies near by, teaching the boy to
discern the fine points of a horse, not for beauty, but for service.

But as soon as he had finished speaking, after a purely perfunctory
assent, Wilbur burst out again:

"But, Rifle-Eye, I really want that sorrel most."

"You really think you want him?"

"Yes!"

"You wouldn't if you knew a little more about horses, son," said the
Ranger. "It's all right to be sure what you want, but what you want is
to be sure that what you want is right."

"Oh, I'm sure I'm right," answered the boy confidently.

"You can't be too careful choosin' a horse," commented Rifle-Eye.
"Choosin' a horse is a good deal like pickin' out a sugar pine for
shakes. You know what shakes are?"

"No, Rifle-Eye," answered the boy.

"They're long, smooth, split sheets of wood that the old-timers used for
shingles. There's lots of sugar pine that'll make the finest kind o'
lumber, an' all of it's good for fuel, but there ain't one tree in a
hundred that'll split naturally an' easily into shakes. An' there ain't
more'n one man in a hundred as can tell when a tree will do. But when
you do get one just right, it's worth any ten other trees. An' the pine
that's good ain't because it's a pretty tree to look at, or an easy one
to cut down, or because of any other reason than that the grain's right.
Same way with a horse. It ain't for his looks, nor for his speed, nor
because he's easy to ride, nor for his strength you want him, but
because his grain's right."

"Well, I'm sure that sorrel looks just right."

"Do looks always tell?"

"Oh, I can always tell a horse by his looks," replied Wilbur boastfully.
"Anyhow, I want him."

"Persistent?" chuckled Bob-Cat, who was standing by enjoying every word,
"why, cockle-burs ain't nothin' to him."

"But, supposin'," the old scout began gently, "I told you that the
sorrel was the worst you could have, not the best?"

"But he ain't," broke in Bob-Cat, who could not bear to hear a friend's
pony harshly crit