“Beggin’ yer pardin!” he said. “But the boys has delegated me to inquire how you spell it.”
The stranger’s gurgling laugh rang out again.
“Spell what?”
“Why, your name, o’ course.”
The stranger came to the door of the cabin, and swung his sinewy hand up at the flag floating from the top of the trimmed aspen.
“See that?” he said.
“I see the flag, if that’s what you mean.”
“There are a number of things that I’m short on, but I’m long on two things—patriotism and pluck. Ever hear of a hiatus?”
Persimmon Pete shook his puzzled head.
“Never did,” he declared.