But Bartley mistook his motive, and thought it sulky resentment. “Oh, very well,” he said. “Take hold.” The landlord came out. “Hold on a minute,” he said. “Where you goin' to take the cars?” “At the Junction,” answered Bartley. “I know a man there that will buy the colt. What is it you want?” The landlord stepped back a few paces, and surveyed the establishment. “I should like to ride after that hoss,” he said, “if you aint in any great of a hurry.” “Get in,” said Bartley, and the landlord took the reins. From time to time, as he drove, he rose up and looked over the dashboard to study the gait of the horse. “I've noticed he strikes some, when he first comes out in the spring.” “Yes,” Bartley assented. “Pulls consid'able.” “He pulls.” The landlord rose again and scrutinized the horse's legs. “I don't know as I ever noticed 't he'd capped his hock before.” “Didn't you?” “Done it kickin' nights, I guess.” “I guess so.” The landlord drew the whip lightly across the colt's rear; he shrank together, and made a little spring forward, but behaved perfectly well. “I don't know as I should always be sure he wouldn't kick in the daytime.” “No,” said Bartley, “you never can be sure of anything.” They drove along in silence. At last the landlord said, “Well, he aint so fast as I _supposed_.” “He's not so fast a horse as some,” answered Bartley. The landlord leaned over sidewise for an inspection of the colt's action forward. “Haint never thought he had a splint on that forward off leg?” “A splint? Perhaps he has a splint.” They returned to the hotel and both alighted. “Skittish devil,” remarked the landlord, as the colt quivered under the hand he laid upon him. “He's skittish,” said Bartley. The landlord retired as far back as the door, and regarded the colt critically. “Well, I s'pose you've always used him too well ever to winded him, but dumn 'f he don't _blow_ like it.” “Look here, Simpson,” said Bartley, very quietly. “You know this horse as well as I do, and you know there isn't an out about him. You want to buy him because you always have. Now make me an offer.” “Well,” groaned the landlord, “what'll you take for the whole rig, just as it stands,--colt, cutter, leathers, and robe?” “Two hundred dollars,” promptly replied Bartley. “I'll give ye seventy-five,” returned the landlord with equal promptness. “Andy, take hold of the end of that trunk, will you?” The landlord allowed them to put the trunk into the cutter. Bartley got in too, and, shifting the baggage to one side, folded the robe around him from his middle down and took his seat. “This colt can road you right along all day inside of five minutes, and he can trot inside of two-thirty every time; and you know it as well as I do.” “Well,” said the landlord, “make it an even hundred.” Bartley leaned forward and gathered up the reins, “Let go his head, Andy,” he quietly commanded.