n they were not h

[Lineweaver Luepke]

Fference between the gaits. The range horse pounded heavily, his head
bobbing; the mares stepped out with long, rocking gallop. They seemed to
be going with half the effort and less than half the speed, and yet,
strangely, they very nearly kept up with the sprinter until their riders
took them back to the eager, prancing walk. Marianne's eyes sparkled but
the little exhibition told a different story to old Corson. He snorted
with pleasure. "Maybe you seen that, Miss Jordan? You seen Jud Hopkin's
roan go by them fancy Coles mares? Well, well, it done my heart good!
This gent Coles comes out of the East to teach us poor ignorant ranchers
what right hoss flesh should be. He's going to auction off them half
dozen mares after the race. Well, sir, I wouldn't give fifty dollars a
head for 'em. Nor neither will nobody else when they see them mares fade
away in the home stretch; nope, neither will nobody else." In this
reference to over-wise Easterners there was a direct thrust at the girl,
but she accepted it with a smile. "Don't you think they'll last for the
mile and a quarter, Mr. Corson?" "Think? I don't think. I know! Picture
hosses like them--well, they'd ought to be left in books. They run a
little. Inside a half mile they bust down. Look how long they are!" "But
their backs are short," put in Marianne hastily. "Backs short?" scoffed
Corson, "Why, lady look for yourself!" She choked back her answer. If
the self-satisfied old fellow could not see how far back the withers
reached and how far forward the quarters, so that the tr
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