“Give me Denver or Kansas City; those are what I call towns, and Omaha's a right bustling little burg, too; but I'm coming back here when I make a million. It ain't in my class now; it's no place for yearlings.”
Then he became communicative. Colorado was his State; he was in cattle; he had been in mines, but cattle suited him better, and he had been lucky. This luck of his was evidently such a recent matter that it was plain to Stephen he had not yet fully accustomed himself to it.
“You fooled me, too, for a fact. I had the same notion you had,” he said, suddenly renewing the conversation which after a little time they had permitted to lapse.
“What notion was that?” asked Stephen pleasantly.
“Why the notion that we'd met somewhere. These resemblances are mighty curious; ain't they? You look like a fellow I've seen, but to save my life I can't say where.”
There was another pause. He stared at Stephen, and Stephen stared back with a puzzled expression on his face.
“Did you say you were going through to Chicago?” the young fellow asked.
“No, no further than Ohio. The central part of the State, to a place—” suddenly it flashed upon Stephen who he was. He leaned forward and smilingly held out his hand. “Why, you're Reddy!” he exclaimed.
The other started. He shot Stephen a quick glance.
“You're dead sure about that, my friend?” he demanded. “You ain't just chancing it on the colour of my hair?”