Landlord in the Arctic

Chapter 355: Chapter 274: Claiming the Prize 2

"Boss, when are the guns getting here?" Bald Paine asked eagerly, his eyes shining.

"Four hours. Get ready." After giving the notice, Feng Mountain picked up his beer and turned toward the tavern door.

He had only taken a few steps when he remembered something. He turned back, his expression serious as he instructed the three of them.

"Don’t drink too much."

"Yes, sir!" The three soldiers immediately put down their glasses. In unison, they raised their hands to their brows in a salute, their movements clean and sharp, exuding military competence.

Just as Feng Mountain left the noisy tavern, he ran right into Snow and Director Roland.

Behind them were the four old men with their long faces.

The four old men had lost their earlier shrewdness. Their faces were full of helplessness as they followed along without a word.

"Feng, we’re here to claim our prize." Snow, on the other hand, was all smiles. He grinned at Feng Mountain, his expression full of anticipation.

Seeing as he had nothing else to do at the moment, Feng Mountain nodded, then gave a casual wave of his hand.

"Let’s go. To the Tundra."

And so, the group ambled out of the camp and onto the verdant Tundra.

As they walked, Feng Mountain came to a stop beside a lamppost.

He stood still, cupped a hand to his mouth, puffed out his cheeks, and blew with all his might.

A piercing whistle shattered the Tundra’s silence, the sound carrying far into the distance and echoing across the vast, open land.

A short while later, a faint tremor ran through the quiet grassland. The vibration, starting in the distance, grew stronger and more distinct, as if some colossal creature was heading in their direction.

Along with the tremors, a herd of horses appeared before them at a full gallop—a truly spectacular sight.

The lead horse was, of course, Cigar. His powerful body looked even more explosive under the dim yellow light of the lamppost.

The light fell over him like a sheer veil, making his glossy coat seem as if it were plated with a faint halo.

Every muscular contour was clearly defined, the tight, powerful lines showcasing his superb physical condition and hinting at an endless reserve of explosive strength. It looked as though he could break into a lightning-fast sprint at any moment.

"Feng, this is a fine horse you have here. He could absolutely be entered into competitions," Roland said, his face full of envy as he carefully looked Cigar up and down.

His gaze was like a scanner.

He didn’t miss a single detail of Cigar’s body.

From his tall frame, to his four strong and powerful legs, and even his gently swaying tail.

He took it all in.

As a horse racing enthusiast, Roland knew.

’This horse is outstanding, whether in terms of bloodline or physique. A pure bloodline, likely inheriting the superior running genes of its ancestors, has gifted it with innate speed. And its perfectly proportioned physique provides enough power for long-distance running without sacrificing the agility to weave and turn freely on a racetrack.’

’While his muscles may seem a bit overly developed, making him look slightly bulkier compared to the more streamlined horses typically seen on the track, that could very well be an advantage.’

’After all, muscle means explosive power.’

’In short-distance races especially, it all comes down to that instantaneous burst of power.’

’A horse as muscular as Cigar could use that immense power to burst out of the gate at the start, leaving his rivals far behind.’

All in all, in Roland’s opinion, this gray horse was an absolutely top-tier animal.

He was the kind of outstanding racehorse that would draw every eye on the track and would very likely achieve great results on its own merit.

"Is that so? I’ll consider it when I have time." Feng Mountain took it as a mere compliment and didn’t give it much thought.

Cigar trotted happily up to Feng Mountain.

He was like a child who hadn’t seen his master in a long time, constantly shaking his head and bobbing it around, snorting every now and then.

There was a hint of grievance in his snorts, as if chiding Feng Mountain for not visiting him these past two days.

A doting smile appeared on Feng Mountain’s face. He reached out and gently scratched Cigar’s smooth mane, stroking it again and again with exceptional tenderness.

After scratching for a good while, he finally turned to the two winning teams and said with a smile,

"Pick your own prizes. You only get one choice, and the offer expires."

"I want this horse." But Old Liu, showing no courtesy whatsoever, pointed directly at Cigar and said nonchalantly, "This one’s good. Thick legs, strong body. Lots of meat."

The moment he said it, the air seemed to freeze. Everyone stared at him in stunned silence.

Everyone in the camp knew that Cigar was Feng Mountain’s prized possession. Old Liu was clearly picking him on purpose just to stir up trouble.

"In your dreams!" Feng Mountain shot Old Liu a nasty glare. "Take it or leave it."

’He knew full well Cigar is my beloved horse and still picked him. So petty.’

Snow and Director Roland weren’t so childish.

The two of them walked up to the herd and, under the dim yellow light, began to seriously assess the physique and condition of each horse.

While observing, they would occasionally lean in close, whispering to each other and sharing their thoughts.

"Hey, Little Snow, how are you supposed to pick a horse?"

Just then, Old Liu and the other three old men sidled up, brazenly asking Snow for advice in their heavily accented, Chinese-style English.

Seeing as they were Chinese like Feng Mountain, and elderly besides,

Snow didn’t mind Old Liu’s overly casual way of addressing him.

Instead, he was very patient, explaining the key points of selecting a horse in the simplest and clearest terms he could manage.

"Sir, the first step is to look at the conformation. A Quarter Horse should have a compact, muscular body, typically standing between 14 and 16 hands high, and weighing around 950 to 1200 pounds."

"Then you check the width and depth of the chest, the posture of the forelimbs, the muscles of the hindquarters, a deep hind knee, short cannon bones, and round hooves with deep, open heels. This overall structure helps the horse maintain balance and stability during short sprints and quick turns."

Director Roland, listening from the side, showed a look of appreciation and added,

"When selecting a Quarter Horse, you also want a short, wide head with a short muzzle, small ears, large nostrils, wide-set eyes, and a wide, well-defined jaw. This head structure gives the Quarter Horse a more powerful look and also helps with maintaining good vision and breathing during exertion."

"As for the coat color, there aren’t as many requirements. You can just go by personal preference."

The two of them went on and on, speaking volubly, one after the other.

They elaborated on the things to look for when choosing a Quarter Horse in as much detail as possible.

But to the four old men, it was like listening to a foreign language. Their faces were blank with confusion, and they only grew more muddled the more they heard.

’What’s a cannon bone?’

’What’s a heel?’

’I don’t understand any of this!’

’Forget it!’

’If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.’

Old Liu steeled his resolve. Since he couldn’t understand a thing anyway, he might as well just go with his gut. He pulled his old buddies over to the herd, his eyes scanning across each horse.

"How about this black one? It’s pretty tall."

The other three old men offered their own opinions.

"If you ask me, this black and white one’s not bad. It’s like the cat my granddaughter has, what’s it called... a tuxedo cat. This must be a tuxedo horse."

"What do you guys know? That young man Snow just said you have to pick one with a wide chest. Look at that brown horse, its chest is like the corner of a city wall."

"The red one is better looking. Pick that one."

North and Director Roland couldn’t help but exchange a smile, then they shook their heads helplessly.

They knew in their hearts that the four old gentlemen hadn’t taken in a single word they’d said. The horses they picked would probably be very average.

"Mr. Roland, you pick first!" Snow, ever the gentleman, stepped aside and made an inviting gesture, offering the prime selection spot to Director Roland. His movements were full of elegance and humility.

Director Roland didn’t stand on ceremony. He smiled calmly and replied, "Why don’t we both pick at the same time and see who chooses best?"

His words carried a subtle hint of a challenge. After all, both of them were very familiar with horses and wanted to see how good their judgment really was. Plus, it would make the selection process more interesting.

"Alright then!"

Hearing this, Snow shrugged, looking as if he were gladly accepting the challenge.

Then, the two of them began to slowly circle the herd, walking and carefully observing the physique and condition of each horse.

After completing a full circle, they stood together once more.

They looked at each other, nodded in mutual understanding, and then, in a spirit of competition, raised their hands and pointed at the herd at the same time.

Unexpectedly, they both chose the same horse: a small-bodied, dun-colored Quarter Horse mare from the herd.

"The dun!"

"The dun-colored one!"

...