The lad explained the circumstances of his being alone, pointing out that the rest of the party were only three or four hours' ride away, and the stranger nodded.
"Which I was a plumb forgettin' to explain is that the gent what you was a-greetin' with the airy name of Jim, won't come none this week to camp, but he allowed as you-all had a-plenty."
"What's the matter with him?"
"Which I ain't a sharp as a doc. Took a spell or somethin'. I opine he's a goin' to continue cavortin' around this Vale of Tears some more, though he has been figurin' on procurin' a brace of wings."
"He's getting better, though?" asked the boy.
"Which he holds a good hand for a long life."
"But I haven't got any extra supply of grub," continued Roger in some dismay.
"Shore!" The stranger, who was just gathering up his reins, half turned in the saddle. "I wouldn't bet a small white chip for any gent's success in a dooel with hunger. Which it is some uncomfortable to ignore the chuck-wagon. But this here Jim he relates that he toted a big jag last time, and it must be cached."
"It must be here somewhere, then," said Roger dubiously, "and I'll look. But it doesn't sound good to me."
"Which if you don't locate, saunter over to the Bar X Double N and we will supply the existin' demand a whole lot," and with a wave of his hand the rider cantered away into the darkness, without giving Roger a chance even to ask where the ranch might be.