Cheyenne turned and glanced back. "Hello, neighbor! Now, if I'd 'a'
knowed you was around, I'd 'a' asked you to have a drink with me."

A tall, heavy-set mountain man, bearded, and limping noticeably, stepped
round the end of the spring fence and strode toward him. From Uncle
Frank's description, Cheyenne at once recognized the stranger as Sneed.
Across Sneed's left arm lay a rifle. Cheyenne saw him let down the
hammer as he drew near.

"Where you headed?" queried Sneed.

"Me, I'm lookin' for Bill Sneed's cabin. You ain't Sneed, are you?"

"Yes, I'm Sneed."

"Well, I'm in luck. I'm Cheyenne Hastings."

"That don't buy you nothin' around here. What do you want to see me
about?"

"Why, I done lost a couple of hosses the other night. I reckon somethin'
stampeded 'em, for they never strayed far from camp before. I trailed
'em up to the hills and then lost their tracks on the rocks. Thought I'd
ride up and see if you had seen 'em--a little ole buckskin and a gray."

Sneed waved his hand toward the east. "My corrals are over there. You're
welcome to look my stock over."

"Thanks. This way, you said?"