Case hesitated and the stranger came forward.
“I reckon we don’t either one know what to call the other,” he said with a smile. “I’m Rube Stagg.”
“Glad to know you, Mr. Stagg,” said Clay with a laugh at the odd appearance of the man.
He was at least six feet four inches tall, lean to emaciation, with enormous hands and feet, and just about the reddest and longest head of hair that the lads had ever seen. It came far down on his shoulders and was so tossed about by the wind that it appeared to be in one great snarl.
His eyes were blue and bright, his nose blunt stub, and his head was adorned with a pair of enormous ears. His dress was of the sort usually worn by ranchmen.
“I’ve got a ranch over here a short distance,” explained Mr. Stagg, “and you are quite welcome to use it if you feel so disposed. That boy has been exposed to the storm too long already.”
“We’ll have him under shelter directly,” was Case’s reply, “but we’re a thousand times obliged to you, all the same.”
“Well,” Stagg replied, “if you won’t use my shack, perhaps you won’t object to my carrying one end of the stretcher.”
“You are all right, Mr. Stagg,” said Clay, heartily. “We are a little short-handed on account of leaving two boys at the boat.”
“What was the ruction at the boat?” Case asked.