Samuel nods along as Jay speaks, taking in this new information and letting his eyes discretely scan the young boy's body. He isn't overly built or brown, there are no true telltale signs of a hard laborer in his physique. But his hands are strong and rough, and there's a curl to his lips and a sharpness to his eyes that only comes when you're a fighter.

The kid is eager, sure, but he's got spunk. Samuel doesn't doubt he could do a job well, if given the chance.

He smirks at the exchange between horse and rider. "That's a fine lookin' boy you have there," he comments, jerking his chin over Jay's shoulder to the paint. "What's he, about three years? Gotta nice coat."

It's easy and conversational (something to fill the dead space while he considers his circumstances carefully).