He was thickset, and burned
to the color of a ripe olive; his long, drooping mustaches,
tobacco-stained at the centre, were bleached at the extremities
to a hempen hue. His bristly hair was cut short, and stood
aggressively erect upon a bullet head, his clothes were soiled
and greasy beneath a gray coating of dust. A pair of alert, lead-
blue eyes and a certain facility of movement belied the drawl
that marked his nativity. He removed his hat and bowed at sight
of Miss Chapin.
"Good-evenin', Miss Jean!" said he. "I hope I find y'all well."
"Quite well, Gallagher. And you?"
"Tol'able, thank you."
"These are my friends from the East."
The Centipede foreman ran his eyes coldly over Jean's companions
until they rested upon Speed, where they remained. He shifted a
lump in his cheek, spat dexterously, and directed his remark at
the Yale man.
"I rode over to see if y'all would like to lay a little mo' on
this y'ere foot-race. I allow you are the unknown?"
Speed nodded, and Stover took occasion to remark: "Them's our
inclinations, but we've about gone our limit.
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