Bud Anderson, acting as the judge, was explaining the rules for the expert ropers to observe, when a commotion was heard from some of the cowboys at the far end of the corral.
“Here comes Buck’s friend,” yelled a cowboy from this group.
All looked, and sure enough, it was the stranger that Buck had told them about. Buck muttered something suspiciously like an oath, and glanced at Mason. The latter was intently watching the newcomer. All sport came to a standstill, and eyes were turned towards the stranger. He was near enough for them to see that he rode a small horse, or else he was a very tall man for his feet just cleared the ground. He was riding at a snail’s pace and fanning himself with a wide rimmed hat. A suit that fairly groaned with loud checks graced his tall and angular form.
Silence fell upon the group of cowboys as they watched the apparition dismount in front of them.
Dismount is not the word, for he simply stuck his feet on the ground and let the horse walk out from under him, after which he turned and faced the cowboys.
“Somebody dead?” he questioned, gazing solemnly at the group, and bowing blandly to each one.
“I take it, this is the Bar X ranch,” he rattled on, before anyone could speak.
“Yes, you’ve hit it,” came quietly from the ranch owner. He was trying to figure out if this stranger was a freak or a fool.
“Met one of your men the other day, nice pleasant fellow,” the freak began again, in his small piping voice.
He smiled serenely at Buck Miller. That worthy’s face turned black with anger.