“Sure,” answered Hosmer, “an’ in twenty yarns more or less. Ye mean about Koos bein’ kind of a brother to the ol’ ram?”
“That’s it,” said Phil drawing nearer the speaker. “Did you ever see him?”
Hosmer laughed, struck his old friend Sam on the knee and then subsiding, slowly relit his bubbling pipe.
“I kin see that someone has been a stringin’ you lads. But ’tain’t surprisin’. All Injuns kind o’ sing that story. But ye kin take it from me—’tain’t no man a livin’, white ur red, ’at could ever ’a’ clumb whar I’ve seen Ol’ Baldy go. There ain’t nothin’ to the Injun part o’ that yarn.”
“But you do think there may be a king of the sheep?” asked Frank.
“Like as not. An’ I reckon they is o’ the elks an’ moose, too.”
“And Old Baldy may be the king of the mountain sheep?”
“Why not? He sure looks the part—ur did. Like as not he’s dead now. I ain’t been near the bench in—mebbe seven ur eight year.”
“Looks the part! What do you mean by that?” eagerly inquired Phil.