When they came to the corral the owner pointed to a big gray in the corner: "That’s him, stranger. He ’s part cow-horse an’ part Kaintuk, an’ too good to be out here in this part of the country. _That’s_ th’ hoss Bad Hawkins rid from Juniper Creek to Halfway in ten hours—one hundred an’ forty miles, says th’ map, an’ Hawkins weighed a hundred an’ seventy afore they got him. He weighed so much he broke off th’ limb of th’ best tree they could find. Why, _he ’s_ th’ cuss what held up th’ Montana Express down at Juniper Creek bridge—reckon you _are_ a stranger to these parts." "He don’t look like no miracle to _me_," asserted Dave, closely scrutinizing the horse. "No? Mebby you ain’t up on miracles. If you want a purty hoss why did n’t you say so? Dolly ’s slick as silk an’ fat as butter—you can have her if you wants her. Cost you about twenty-five dollars less. But you won’t save nothin’ on her if you wants a hoss for hard ridin’, one that gets there quick, an’ gets back quick." "I ain’t said nothin’ ’bout savin’ no money," retorted Dave. "An’ it seems to me yo ’re purty d—n high in yore prices, anyhow." "Well, I sees you wants a hoss right bad; an’ when a man wants a hoss bad he wants a _good_ hoss—an’ good hosses come high. Dolly ’s gentle as a kitten," shrewdly explained the owner. "Big Gray, there, he ’s some hard to ride, onless you can sit a saddle good as th’ next." "How much for Big Gray?" snapped Dave. "One hundred dollars." "I ain’t buyin’ a herd," remonstrated Dave. "I ain’t sellin’ a herd," smiled the owner. "I told you good hosses come high. Mebby Dolly ’d suit you better. She ’s my daughter’s hoss." "Here ’s th’ hundred," replied Dave, nettled. "Got a bridle or halter or piece of rope? An’ I want to buy a saddle—one that’s been broke in." "There’s a halter on him—good enough? All right; I got a saddle that’s in purty fair shape—don’t need it, so you can have it for twenty." When Dave rode from the corral he was headed for the general store and bought a rifle, a rope, and sundry other necessaries, including food. Returning to the hotel he put his horse in the corral, had a drink, and went to his room carrying the saddle, the gunny sack, and his other purchases with him. The gunny sack had not been from under his arm an instant while he had been in town. The erstwhile owner of Big Gray drifted back to his table shortly after Dave’s return and settled himself for another drink. "Did you sell him one?" asked the proprietor, digging down for change. "Yep," was the reply. "Fifty, sixty, seventy-five—there ’s yore change. I wonder who he is an’ where he’s goin’?" remarked the proprietor, in lieu of something better.