“How are you?” the stranger nodded.
“Won’t you git off?”
Bowers strained his eyes to read the brand on the shoulder of the horse the man turned loose, but it told him nothing. While the stranger squatted on his heel, Bowers rubbed Mary’s horns during an interval of unembarrassed silence.
“Bum?” inquired the stranger, eying Mary with a look which could not be called admiring.
“Yep.” The garrulous Bowers had become suddenly reticent. The notion was growing that he did not like his visitor. He asked finally:
“Et yet?”
“Not sence daylight. I seen your tepee up toward the top and thought maybe I could locate your wagon and git dinner.”
“I’ll feed anybody that’s hungry,” Bowers replied ambiguously.
The stranger asked innocently:
“Who does this Outfit belong to?”