He sat in the saddle for half an hour, eyeing the horse critically, and at the end of that time, noting that Betty had returned to the ranchhouse with Kelton, probably having looked at some of the stock she had come to see--Calumet had observed on his approach that the cattle corral was well filled with white Herefords--he wheeled Blackleg and rode over to them.
"Mr.Kelton has offered me four hundred head of cattle at a reasonable figure," Betty told him on his approach.

"All that remains is for you to confirm it." "I reckon you're the boss," said Calumet.

He looked at Kelton, and evidently his fear that he would "smash" the tatter's face had vanished--perhaps in a desire to possess the black horse, which had seized him.
"I reckon you ain't sellin' that black horse ?" he said.
"Cheap," said Kelton quickly.
"How cheap ?" "Fifty dollars." "I reckon he's my horse," said Calumet.

"The boss of the Lazy Y will pay for him when she hands you the coin for your cattle." He scrutinized Kelton's face closely, having caught a note in his voice which had interested him.

"Why you wantin' to get rid of the black ?" he questioned.
"He ain't been rode," said Kelton; "he won't be rode.