The Greatest Works of B. M. Bower - 51 Titles in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). B. M. Bower

in the middle of the corral. “It’s a heap worse not to know anything about your future, don’t you think?”

      “Oh, but Big Medicine says the poor boy is just worried sick over it. He tried so hard to tell them his name,—oh, he’s looking this way. I hope he didn’t hear.”

      Whether he heard or not, the stranger had turned and was walking slowly toward them. Andy watched him curiously. Barring the unmistakable stiff gait of a saddle-galled man and a slight uncertainty in his movements as if he might still be somewhat dazed from the shock, the fellow seemed little the worse for his experience. He was dressed in gray tweed trousers and coat, pale blue shirt and dark blue tie. In spite of the wrinkles and travel stains, his clothes gave him the look of a city-bred man; the pilgrim type which furnishes so much amusement on the cattle ranges. But he carried his shoulders well and his bare head balanced itself almost haughtily upon a powerful neck. His hair was blond and almost as curly as Pink’s, and his eyes were blue and set in shallow sockets, curiously pointed at the corners. They did not, however, look especially dazed or bewildered. They were sophisticated eyes, and though they had an Irish twinkle, they did not invite one to share the joke.

      “Howdy,” said Andy, in a tone that did not commit him to anything.

      “Hello yourself,” said the other. “I don’t remember seeing you around here before.” His eyes went to the girl, which of course was natural. “You don’t happen to know who I am, do you? I was afraid you wouldn’t. No one around here seems to.”

      “You—you can’t remember who you are, at all?” Myrtle’s eyes and her voice were soft with sympathy.

      “I could be a Chinaman for all I know. So far as I can tell, I’m nameless.” He laughed shortly.

      “I think it must be perfectly thrilling, not to know your name or anything about your past,” said Myrtle, in a tone that jarred on Andy’s nerves.

      “The present is thrilling enough for me,” said the stranger. “I’m not worrying right now about my past.” And he laughed in a diffident way as he climbed up beside her.

      Andy’s black eyebrows came together. He looked at Myrtle and saw her edging along to make room for the fellow. She seemed to have forgotten all about last evening in the bay window at the Rogers ranch. And although he stubbornly held to his place beside her, not once did he turn his face toward her. So far as he was concerned, that particular rail was occupied only by Andy Green.