was well knit. His jean trousers were stuffed in the top of his
boots and were tight over his knees which were well-moulded, and
that is rare with a mountaineer. A loop of black hair curved over
his forehead, down almost to his left eye. His nose was straight
and almost delicate and his mouth was small, but extraordinarily
resolute. Somewhere he had seen that face before, and he turned
suddenly, but he did not startle the lad with his abruptness, nor
make him turn his gaze.

"Why, haven't I--?" he said. And then he suddenly remembered. He
had seen that boy not long since on the other side of the
mountains, riding his horse at a gallop down the county road with
his reins in his teeth, and shooting a pistol alternately at the
sun and the earth with either hand. Perhaps it was as well not to
recall the incident. He turned to the old mountaineer.

"Do you mean to tell me that a man can't go through these
mountains without telling everybody who asks him what his name
is?"

The effect of his question was singular. The old man spat into the
fire and put his hand to his beard. The boy crossed his legs
suddenly and shoved his muscular fingers deep into his pockets.
The figure shifted position on the bed and the infant at the foot
of it seemed to clench his toy-dagger a little more tightly. Only
the little girl was motionless--she still looked at him,
unwinking. What sort of wild animals had he fallen among?

"No, he can't--an' keep healthy." The giant spoke shortly.