A tremendous patriarchal-like beard covered his chest; keen black eyes looked out from shaggy brows. Such was his face and form.
His garb was of a nondescript kind, and wholly the product of trapper life.
Greasy buckskin leggings and moccasins inclosed legs and feet, a red shirt, dirty and patched, was worn beneath an outer jacket of tanned deer hide, fringed with porcupine quills.
The unknown carried a rifle and revolvers and knife, and rode in an Indian saddle, with a curious bridle of plaited rawhide to decorate the pony with.
Such types were rarely met with in that part of the West, and Frank knew it.
This man, he instantly reflected, was far from his usual haunts.
He was a trapper from the wilds of Montana, and made his living in dealing in traps and furs.
What he was doing in this part of the world was a problem.
However, Frank advanced boldly toward him.
When within safe speaking distance, the young inventor asked: