Sometimes we'd make up a purse among us, and we'd go over to some social getherin' or other, and win a thousand dollars.

Old Pinto could run all day; he can yet, for that matter.

Didn't make no difference to him how often we raced him; and natural, after we'd won one hatful of money with him, we'd want to win another.

That was where our judgment was weak.
"You never could tell whether Pinto was goin' to finish under the wire, or out in the landscape.

His eyes seemed to be sort of moverble, but like enough they'd get sot when he went to runnin'.