"Carcasonne," said Saterlee. "Not the junction--the resort."

"Well," said the proprietor, "there's just one horse and just one trap
in Grub City, and they ain't for hire."

Again the united families laughed appreciatively. It was evident that a
prophet is not always without honor in his own land.

"We've no use for them," said the great man, with the noble abandoning
gesture of a Spanish grandee about to present a horse to a man
travelling by canoe. And he added: "So they're for sale. Now what do you
think they'd be worth to you?"

All the honest blue eyes, and there were no other colors, widened upon
Saterlee.

"Fifty dollars," he said, as one accustomed to business.

It was then that a panting, female voice was raised behind him. "Sixty
dollars!"

His showy acquaintance of the dining-car had followed him along the ties
as fast as she could, and was just come up.

"I thought you two was a trust," commented the proprietor's wife,
pausing with her needle in the air. "But it seems you ain't even a
community of interests."

"Seventy dollars," said Saterlee quietly.