They turned and trotted back to him now and nosed Bud's hands which he held out to them.
He petted them all and talked to them in an affectionate murmur which they answered by sundry lipnibbles and subdued snorts.

Smoky he singled out finally, rubbing his back and sides with the flat of his hand from shoulder to flank, and so to the rump and down the thigh to the hock to the scanty fetlock which told, to those who knew, that here was an aristocrat among horses.
Smoky stood quiet, and Bud's hand lingered there, smoothing the slender ankle.

Bud's fingers felt the fine-haired tail, then gave a little twitch.

He was busy for a minute, kneeling in the sand with one knee, his head bent.

Then he stood up, went forward to Smoky's head, and stood rubbing the horse's nose thoughtfully.
"I hate to do it, old boy--but I'm working to make's a home--we've got to work together.