could outswap any live man, woman, or child that ever walked these hills, or that ever straddled horseflesh since the days of old daddy Adam. "Stranger," said he to me, "did you ever see the Yallow Blossom from Jasper?"
"No," said I, "but I have often heard of him."
"I'm the boy," continued he; "perhaps a leetle, jist a leetle, of the best man at a horse swap that ever trod shoe leather."
I began to feel my situation a little awkward, when I was relieved by a man somewhat advanced in years, who stepped up and began to survey the Yallow Blossom's horse with much apparent interest. This drew the rider's attention, and he turned the conversation from me to the stranger.
"Well, my old coon," said he, "do you want to swap hosses?"
"Why, I don t know," replied the stranger; "I believe I've got a beast I'd trade with you for that one, if you like him."
"Well, fetch up your nag, my old cock; you're jist the lark I wanted to get hold of. I am perhaps a leetle, jist a leetle, of the best man at a horse swap that ever stole cracklins out of his mammy's fat gourd. Where's your hoss?"
"I'll bring him presently, but I want to examine your horse a little."
"Oh! look at him," said the Blossom, alighting and hitting him a cut; "look at him. He's the best piece of hossflesh in the thirteen united univarsal worlds. There's no sort o' mistake in little Bullet. He can pick up miles on his feet and fling 'em behind him as fast as the next man's hoss, I don't care where he comes from. And he can keep at it as long as the sun can shine without resting."
During this harangue little Bullet looked as if he understood it all, believed it, and was ready at any moment to verify it. He was a horse of goodly countenance, rather expressive of vigilance than fire, though an unnatural appearance of fierceness
