"There go the winners, Mr.Corson.
The ponies won't be in it after two furlongs." Corson regarded her with a touch of irritation: "Now, don't you be too sure, lady," he growled.

"Lots of legs, I grant you.

Too much for me.
Are they pure bred ?" "No," she answered, "there's enough cold blood to bring the price down.
But Coles is a wise business man.

After they've won this race in a bunch they'll look, every one, like daughters of Salvator.

See that! Oh, the beauties!" One of the range horses was loosed for a fifty yard sprint and as he shot by, the mares swayed out in pursuit.