Read Online Some More Horse Tradin' by Ben K. Green - Free Book Online Page B

had before. We were about even with the corrals when I said to him, “I’ll be glad to getthose broodmares tomorrow and get on my way back toward the Northwest.” Then we came on up by his horse and I said, “This horse has good balance and mighty good legs.”
    â€œYou have a keen eye for a horse.”
    â€œYes, sir,” I said, “I’ve had to have. I’ve lived horseback—made my living with horses—but this horse puzzles me almost as much as you do. He’s not a horse of thoroughbred breeding; he’s not an Arab; and he’s certainly not a mustang horse. I admire him very much. He’s unusual, even to the brand on his hind leg. It’s a brand that I would interpret as a tree.”
    â€œYes, the brand is a tree, and he is truly a well-bred horse.” And that was just about all he said. He cut it off with that.
    I thought I had baited him enough that he might tell me something about himself or about his horse—but he didn’t. We sat down in the shade of the shed where our saddles and beds were. I leaned back against my saddle and looked out across the desert toward the mountains in Mexico. Finally he broke the silence by saying, “You said you bought some broodmares.”
    â€œYes, sir. I’m going to take them to my ranch up close to Fort Worth.”
    â€œFrom whom did you purchase these mares?”
    Well, he had begun to ask questions. I thought I’d tell him something and maybe he would tell me something. I said, “I bought the mares from the Shield Ranch.”
    His eyes narrowed and his mouth dropped open a bit, and he said, “You, too, have bought those mares.”
    I pondered a bit to analyze his statement, and then I asked, “Who else has bought them?”
    â€œMy young friend, these mares have been sold many times, but a purchaser has never been able to get them off the ranch.”
    I said, “I bought them to be delivered in the corrals of the canyon pasture.”
    â€œAlas, that is the way they have been sold to many other men.”
    I had left three hundred and fifty dollars at the Shield Ranch and that, all of a sudden, bothered me. I knew this man had no humor about him; he wasn’t fixing to pull a joke on me. I asked, “Would you explain the meaning of your statement? It puzzles me. I have bought the mares and paid half the purchase price.”
    â€œI assumed so,” he said. “That is the usual arrangement.”
    â€œWell, what’s wrong? They are, I thought, exceptionally good mares.”
    â€œThey truly are exceptionally good mares,” he agreed.
    â€œThen you know the horses?”
    â€œYes,” he said, “I know the horses, and I know the horses from which they were bred. My young friend—your hospitality, your kindness, and your company cause me to call you friend”—I could tell by the way he used the word that it was significant to him, that he didn’t pitch it around lightly, and that he had finally decided to be my friend—“my young friend, the young Collin is a rascal. He has used these mares to gain money from others. It is true that your judgment of a horse is good. The Shield mares are the best along the Rio Grande for hundreds of miles. It is also true that they will deliver them into the corrals to you, but only a hired hand will be there, or perhaps the cook. You will pay the balance of your money and turn the mares out of the corrals into a big pasture to drive them to the public road a distance of about five miles. You will pass through a canyon and some very rough country, heavily wooded country with catclaw, greasewood, mesquite brush, and huge cactus plants. It is through this rough country that the mares will lose you. They will scatter and run. They know the range. They know the trails. They know how to get away; therefore, a buyer never gets to the public road with these mares. For three years, this has been