"Your logic, at times, young man, is unassailable."
Chunky nodded. He had a faint idea of what Professor Zepplin meant.
Late that afternoon the travelers came upon a shack in the foothills,
where an old rancher, a hermit, lived when not tending his little
flock of sheep, most of which, Kris Kringle said, the old man had
stolen from droves that came up over the trail going north.
He was an interesting old character, this hermit, and the boys decided
that they would like to make camp and have him take supper with them.
This the Professor and the guide readily agreed to, for everyone was
hot and dusty and the bronchos were nervous and ill-natured.
The boys found the old rancher talkative enough on all subjects save
himself. When Chunky asked him where he came from, and what for, the
old man's face flushed angrily.
At the first opportunity the guide took the fat boy aside for some
fatherly advice.
"In this country it isn't good policy to be too curious about a man's
family affairs. He's likely to resent it in a way you won't like. Most
fellows out here have reasons for being out of the world, beyond
what's apparent on the surface."
Chunky heeded the advice and asked no more personal questions for the
next hour, though he did forget himself before the evening was ended.
"You seem to be having pretty dry weather down here," said the
Professor, by way of starting the old man to talking.
"Yep.
Pages:
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125