"Howdy, stranger?" answered the red-headed man, his voice strangely
low-toned and gentle.

"My name's Conniston," went on the young man, putting out a hand which
the other took after eying him keenly.

"Real nice name," replied the red-headed man. And dropping Conniston's
hand and turning to his horses, "Hey there, Lady! Quit that blowin'
bubbles an' drink, or I'll pull your ol' head off'n you!"

Lady seemed to have understood, and thrust her nose deeper into the
water. And the new-comer, catching his reins between his knees, took
papers and tobacco from the pocket of a sagging, unbuttoned vest and
made a cigarette. Licking the paper as a final touch, his eyes went to
Hapgood.

"Pardner sick or something?"

"No. Just fagged out. We came all the way from Indian Creek since
morning."

"That's real far, ain't it?" remarked the man in the buckboard, with a
little twitch to the corner of his mouth, but much deep gravity in his
eye. "Which way you goin', stranger?"

"We're going across the hills into the Half Moon country. It's forty
miles farther, they tell me."

"Uh-uh. That's what they call it. An' a darn long forty mile, or I'll
put in with you."