"Got back, Silas?" cried the loud-voiced hotel-keeper.
"Just what you say yourself," retorted Silas amiably. "Seems to me I bought a ticket and just got off the train. Still, ther' ain't nothing certain in this world except—graft."
"That's so," laughed the other. "Still, ther' ain't much of a shadow 'bout you, so we'll take it as real. Who's your friend?"
The hotel-keeper eyed Gordon with a view to trade. The man called Silas laughed and turned to Gordon.
"Guess I didn't get your name. Mine's Mallinsbee—Silas Mallinsbee. I'm a rancher, way out ther' in the foothills."
Gordon thought for a moment. Then he decided to use two of his given names in preference to his father's.
"Mine's Gordon Van Henslaer. Glad to meet you."
"Van Henslaer?" Mallinsbee's eyes twinkled. "Guess the first and last letters on your grip are spare. Kind of belong back east. How-do?" Then, without waiting for a reply, he turned to McSwain and the men on the veranda who were interestedly surveying Gordon. "This is Mister Gordon Van Henslaer from New York. Thought he'd like to break his journey west and get a look around Snake's Fall."
Gordon laughed.
"I was persuaded at the last minute," he added. "Can you let me have a room?"