"I seen too many of the critters. See that scar?"
And he tapped his forehead with one of his long fingers.
"Yes," said Bob eagerly.
"Well, it was an Injun gave me that; Flying Horse, they called him."
At the memory of what had evidently been an exciting adventure, the man lapsed into silence, as though he were re-enacting the events in his mind.
To Bob his silence was tantalizing. He longed to hear of the experience, and yet he hesitated to ask point-blank. His interest was so keen, however, that he could not restrain himself entirely, and he squirmed restively in his chair.
The movement had the effect of recalling the man from his memories, and gazing at the lad's eager face, his own broke into a smile, as he said:
"I suppose you'd like to know how it happened?"
"Indeed I should."
"I was punching cows for an old fellow called Sam Ford; a man so mean you could pull the pith out of a horse-hair and then put his soul inside, and it would rattle.