"I'll promise not to eat you out of house and home," laughed the stranger. Without taking off his broad-brimmed Mexican sombrero he threw himself down by the piece of canvas on which the dinner had been laid, helping himself to a slice of bacon which he ate from his fingers in a most democratic fashion. "My name's Conway. Bill Conway. What's yours?"
Professor Zepplin introduced himself and the boys, which Conway acknowledged by polite bows. The man was easy in manner, and his smiling face led the boys to warm to him at once—-all save Tad Butler, who, without appearing to do so, was observing the visitor keenly.
The man was slight, almost boyish in figure. His hair was dark, as were his eyes, the latter having a trick of growing suddenly darker than their natural color, seeming to sink further back in his head under some sudden stress of emotion. The brown fingers were slender and nervous in their movements.
"I'll bet he would be quick on the trigger," was Tad's mental conclusion.
"Are you from these parts?" asked the professor by way of starting the conversation.
"El Paso, when I'm at home. And you?"
"From the north."
"Down here for your health?"
"Partly. Mostly for an outing."
"Just so. I reckon I've heard something about you."