He motioned toward a small gate and Bud led Smoky that way, closing the gate after him.
The old man was mounted on a clean-built bay whose coat shone with little glints of gold in the dark red.

With one sweeping look Bud observed the points that told of speed, and his eyes went inquiringly to meet the sharp blue ones, that sparkled under the tufted white eyebrows of grandpa.
"Do you expect Smoky to show up the same day that horse arrives ?" he inquired mildly.

"Pop, you'll have to prove to me that he won't run Sunday--" Pop snorted.

"Seems to me like you do know a speedy horse when you see one, young feller.

Beats me't you been overlookin' what you got under yore saddle right now.