“But if he is a hoss thief, then he’s been liftin’ some o’ the cattle belongin’ ter Buffler Bill’s pards an’——”
“Been stealing horses belonging to Buffalo Bill’s pards?” demanded Benner. “Send the man up here and tell him to bring the horse.”
“That’s right, Lige,” said Jerry. “It’ll pay to look into this.”
Lige and Jerry Benner stood in the door of the adobe house as the stranger came up the hill.
“He looks like a bad egg,” muttered Lige.
“That’s right, Lige,” said Jerry, “he does. I reckon either of us is competent to tell a bad egg from a good one.”
Lige didn’t like the tone of his brother’s voice, and turned on him sharply. Jerry didn’t take his eyes from the figure advancing up the slope, but the weird laugh came through his motionless lips.
Before the brothers had a chance to talk any further, the stranger came to a halt at the door. His horse was a “rangy” animal and undoubtedly possessed both speed and bottom; and the trappings, although showing signs of hard usage, were of the best.
The ragged and tattered man in the saddle did not harmonize with his equipment. Any one could see, with half an eye, that something was wrong.
“Who are you?” demanded Lige Benner roughly.