He was a horse that would not have raised up at the trumpet of doom.

Nothing under the sun, Frank said, bothered Old Baldy but the operation of shoeing.

We made the distance to the outpost by noon, and found Frank's friend a genial and obliging cowboy, who said we could have all the horses we wanted.
While Jones and Wallace strutted round the big corral, which was full of vicious, dusty, shaggy horses and mustangs, I sat high on the fence.
I heard them talking about points and girth and stride, and a lot of terms that I could not understand.

Wallace selected a heavy sorrel, and Jones a big bay; very like Jim's.

I had observed, way over in the corner of the corral, a bunch of cayuses, and among them a clean-limbed black horse.