He was, as they said, "a white man; white to the back,"
which was understood to sum up the true cattle man's virtues.
"Hello, Bill," said a friend, "where's Hi? Hain't seen him around!"
"Well, don't jest know. He was going to bring up my pinto."
"Your pinto? What pinto's that? You hain't got no pinto!"
"Mebbe not," said Bill, slowly, "but I had the idee before you spoke
that I had."
"That so? Whar'd ye git him? Good for cattle?" The crowd began to
gather.
Bill grew mysterious, and even more than usually reserved.
"Good fer cattle! Well, I ain't much on gamblin', but I've got a leetle
in my pants that says that there pinto kin outwork any blanked bronco in
this outfit, givin' him a fair show after the cattle."
The men became interested.
"Whar was he raised?"
"Dunno."
"Whar'd ye git him? Across the line?"
"No," said Bill stoutly, "right in this here country. The Dook there
knows him."
This at once raised the pinto several points. To be known, and, as
Bill's tone indicated, favorably known by The Duke, was a testimonial to
which any horse might aspire.
"Whar'd ye git him, Bill? Don't be so blanked oncommunicatin'!" said an
impatient voice.
Bill hesitated; then, with an apparent burst of confidence, he assumed
his frankest manner and voice, and told his tale.
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