her neck. He had no other means of guiding her, no sign of a bridle.
But Andrew looked with hungry eyes. He 'knew something of horses, and this bay fitted into his dreams of an ideal perfectly. She was beautiful, quite heavily built in the body, with a great spread of breast that surely told of an honest heart beneath a glorious head, legs that fairly shouted to Andrew of good blood, and, above all, she had that indescribable thing which is to a horse what personality is to a man. She did not win admiration, she commanded it. And she stood alert at the side of the road, looking at Andrew like a queen. Horse stealing is the last crime and the cardinal sin in the mountain desert, but Andrew felt the moment he saw her that she must be his. At least he, would first try to buy her honorably.
"Son," he said to the urchin, "how much for that horse?"
"Why," said the boy, "anything you'll give."
"Don't laugh at me," said Andrew sternly. "I like her looks and I'll buy her. I'll trade this chestnut—and he's a fine traveler—with a good price to boot. If your father lives up the road and not down, turn back with me and I'll see if I can't make a trade."
"You don't have to see him," said the boy. "I can tell you that he'll sell her. You throw in the chestnut and you won't have to give any boot." And he grinned.
"But there's the house." He pointed across the ravine at a little green-roofed shack buried in the rocks.
"You can come over if you want to."
"Is there something wrong with her?"
"Nothin' much."
"She looks sound. She stands well."
"Sure!" Pop says she's the best hoss that ever run in these parts. And he knows, I'll tell a man!"
