Bud and Kit stood on either side of her, to protect her from the remarks
of the disgruntled gamblers.
Suddenly a man pushed his way through the throng, mounted on a Spanish
mule.
He was a fine-looking man, dressed after the manner of the plainsman,
and might have been either a cow-puncher in prosperity or a ranch owner.
As the crowd made way for him he caught sight of Bud, and stopped and
stared for several moments without speaking.
Bud had not noticed him, but when he did look up he returned the stare,
and his forehead was wrinkled in thought.
Somewhere in the back part of his head he carried a picture of this
man, but under different circumstances.
Who could he be, and where had he been met, were the things that were
puzzling Bud.
"Hello, pard, you don't seem to place me," said the man on the Spanish
mule. "But I haven't forgotten you by a dern sight. Think hard."
"I've saw yer som'er's," said Bud thoughtfully, "but it wa'n't like
this. You're som'er's in my picture gallery o' faces, but yer ain't ther
same as when I saw yer last.
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