you."

"Sure. We'll all be with you till the cows come home, Brill," nodded one
little fellow called Purdy. He was looking at a dust patch rising from
the Bear Creek trail, and slowly moving toward them. "What's the name of
this new nester, Jim?"

Budd, by way of being a curiosity on the range, was a fat man with a
big double chin. He was large as well as fat, and, by queer contrast,
the voice that came from that mountain of flesh was a small falsetto
scarce above a whisper.

"Didn't hear his name. Had no talk with him. Hear he is called Keller,"
he said.

"What's he look like?"

"You-all can see for yourself. This here's the gent rolling a tail this
way."

The little cloud of dust had come nearer and disclosed as its source a
rider on a rangy roan with four white-stockinged feet. Drawing up in
front of the porch, the man swung himself easily from the saddle and
glanced around.

"Evening, gentlemen," he said pleasantly.

Some nodded grimly, some growled an acknowledgment of his greeting. But
the lack of cordiality, the presence of hostility, could not be doubted.
The young man stood at supple ease before them, one hand resting on his