Lanpher and his comrade rode by at a trot. The former mumbled a greeting to Racey but barely glanced at the girl. Women did not interest Lanpher. He was too selfishly stingy. The stranger was more appreciative. He gave the girl a stare of frank admiration before he looked at Racey Dawson. The latter perceived that the stranger's eyes were remarkably black and keen, perceived, too, that the man as he rode past and on half turned in the saddle for a second look at the girl.
"Who's yore friend?" asked Marie, an insolent lift to her upper lip and a slightly puzzled look in her brown eyes as her gaze followed the stranger and Lanpher.
"Friend?" said Racey. "Speaking personal, now, I ain't lost either of 'em."
"I know who Lanpher is," she told him, impatiently. "I meant the other."
"I'll never tell yuh. I dunno him."
"I think I've seen him somewhere—sometime. I can't remember where or how—I see so many men. There! I almost had it. Gone again now. Don't it make you sick when things get away from you like that? Makes you think yo're a-losing yore mind almost."
"He looked at you almighty strong," proffered Racey. "Maybe he'll remember. Why don't you ask him?"
"Maybe I will at that," said she.
"Didja know he was a friend of Nebraska's?" he asked, watching her face keenly.
She shook her head. "Nebraska knows a lot of folks," she said, indifferently.