As he ranged beside me, I found I was not mistaken as to his size;
he was quite under the medium height, and but for a pair of cold,
gray eyes, was rather commonplace in feature.
"You've got a good horse there," I suggested.
He was filling his pipe from my pouch, but looked up a little
surprised, and said, "Of course." He then puffed away with the
nervous eagerness of a man long deprived of that sedative.
Finally, between the puffs, he asked me whence I came.
I replied, "From Lagrange."
He looked at me a few moments curiously, but on my adding that I
had only halted there for a few hours, he said: "I thought I knew
every man between Lagrange and Indian Spring, but somehow I sorter
disremember your face and your name."
Not particularly caring that he should remember either, I replied
half laughingly, that, as I lived the other side of Indian Spring,
it was quite natural. He took the rebuff, if such it was, so
quietly that as an act of mere perfunctory politeness I asked him
where he came from.
"Lagrange."
"And you are going to--"
"Well! that depends pretty much on how things pan out, and whether
I can make the riffle.
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