he was too good a sport to go back on his word.

"Say, where was you raised?" he queried abruptly.

"In Kentucky."

"Hell, I thought you was from New York?"

"I lived in Kentucky until I was twenty-five."

"Was your folks hoss-traders?"

"Not exactly," laughed Bartley. "My father always kept a few good
saddle-horses, however."

"Uh-huh? I reckon he did. And you ain't forgot what a real hoss looks
like, either." Wishful's pensive countenance lighted suddenly. "You'll
be wantin' a rig--saddle and bridle and slicker and saddle-bags. Now I
got just what you want."

Bartley stepped to the stable and inspected the outfit. It was old and
worn, and worth, Bartley estimated, about thirty dollars, all told.

"I'll let you have the whole outfit--hoss and rig and all, for two
hundred," stated Wishful unblushingly.

"I priced a saddle, over in the shop across from the station, this
morning," said Bartley.

"With bridle and blanket and saddle-pockets it would only stand me
ninety dollars. If the bay is the poorest horse you own, then at your
figure this outfit would come rather high."

"I might 'a' knowed it!" stated Wishful. "Say, Mr. Bartley, give me a
hundred and fifty for the hoss and I'll throw in the rig."

"No. I know friendship ceases when a horse-trade begins; but I am only
taking you at your word."

"I sure done overlooked a bet, this trip," said Wishful. "Say, I reckon
you must 'a' cut your first tooth on a cinch-ring. I done learnt
somethin' this mornin'. Private eddication comes high, but I'm game.
Write your check for a hundred--and take the bay. By rights I ought to
give him to you, seein as how you done roped and branded me for a
blattin' yearlin' the first throw; and you been out West just three
days! You'll git along in this country."

"I hope so," laughed Bartley. "Speaking of getting along, I plan to
visit Senator Brown. How long will it take me to get there, riding the
bay?"

"He's got a runnin' walk that is good for six miles an hour. He's a
walkin' fool. And anything you git your rope on, he'll hold it till
you're gray-headed and got whiskers. That ole hoss is the best cow-hoss
in Antelope County--and I'm referrin' you to Steve Brown to back me up.
I bought that hoss from Steve. Any time you see the Box-S brand on a
hoss, you can figure he's a good one."

"I suppose I'd have to camp on the mesa two or three nights," said
Bartley.

"Nope! Ole Dobe'll make it in two days. He don't look fas