The blow which he received in the eye from Bud Heyland's whip incited him to fury for the moment, but by the time he got fairly outside he was comparatively harmless, and the hurried climbing of the center-pole by Bud Heyland was altogether a piece of superfluity.
As Fred Sheldon had fairly earned the two hundred dollars, he was told to call at the hotel in Tottenville that afternoon and it would be paid him.
It is not necessary to say that he was there punctually, for the sum was a fortune in his eyes.
As he came to the porch a number of loungers were there as usual, and Fred found himself quite a hero among his playmates and fellows.
Not only was Jake Kincade present, with his cigar alternately between his finger and lips, but Bud Heyland and a stranger were sitting on the bench which ran along the porch, their legs crossed, one smoking his briar-wood and the other a cigar.
Despite Fred's agitation over his own prospects, he could not help noticing this stranger whom, he believed, he had never seen before.
His dress and appearance were much like those of a cattle drover. He wore a large, gray sombrero, a blue flannel shirt, had no suspenders, coarse corduroy trousers, though the weather was warm, with the legs tucked in the tops of his huge cowhide boots, the front of which reached far above his knees, like those of a cavalryman.
He had frowsy, abundant hair, a smoothly-shaven face—that is, the stubby beard was no more than two or three days old—and he seemed to be between twenty-five and thirty years of age.
Looking at his rather regular features, it would be hard to tell whether he was a good or evil man, but it was very evident that he and Bud Heyland had struck up a strong intimacy, which was growing.