me he's a deputy sheriff.

"'There's a train-robber called Black Bill supposed to be somewhere in
these parts,' says the scout. 'He's been traced as far as San Antonio,
and maybe farther. Have you seen or heard of any strangers around here
during the past month?'

"'I have not,' says I, 'except a report of one over at the Mexican
quarters of Loomis' ranch, on the Frio.'

"'What do you know about him?' asks the deputy.

"'He's three days old,' says I.

"'What kind of a looking man is the man you work for?' he asks. 'Does
old George Ramey own this place yet? He's run sheep here for the last
ten years, but never had no success.'

"'The old man has sold out and gone West,' I tells him. 'Another
sheep-fancier bought him out about a month ago.'

"'What kind of a looking man is he?' asks the deputy again.

"'Oh,' says I, 'a big, fat kind of a Dutchman with long whiskers and
blue specs. I don't think he knows a sheep from a ground-squirrel. I
guess old George soaked him pretty well on the deal,' says I.

"After indulging himself in a lot more non-communicative information
and two-thirds of my dinner, the deputy rides away.