“Dunno as I do. I mought hev seen yer before, an’ then, agin’, I moughtn’t.”
“My name is Gideon Prawle.”
“Wal, pard, that doesn’t help me ter place yer.”
“No?” answered Gideon, in some surprise.
Jim Sanders shook his head to and fro slowly, while the boys regarded him blankly.
“So you don’t remember that I paid you $100 on account three weeks ago for a bit of ground you own down near Beaver Creek, and that I was to pay you $200 more some time within sixty days?”
At the mention of the money a light seemed to suddenly break in on the fallow brain of the lonesome-looking rider.
“Are yer ther stranger what owes me that $200 on my old pard’s claim at the krik?” he asked, with unfeigned eagerness.
“I’m the man, Jim.”
“Wal, now, I wouldn’t hev knowed it,” he replied, with a grin. “When yer goin’ ter settle up?”