"That feller 'Sour-Dough's' gall must 'a' broke and run all over him," said the barber enviously as he left a lathered customer in the chair and walked to the door where he wiped his razor on the door-jamb and listened to the conversation with an interest which he made no effort to conceal.
"Went up in the range last week and forgot my blankets," explained Mr. McCaffrey. "Slept 'longside a rock all night and near froze. Rasseled a silver-tip about two years ago—he near et me—and I can't stand up ag'in' things like I onct could."
"He's talkin' personal about himself," reported the barber in a loud whisper over his shoulder.
Nan's eyes opened.
"You fought a bear?"
"Yep." Mr. McCaffrey's tone was casual and disinterested. He felt he was losing valuable time. "Aim to stay in this country long?"
"I can't say yet."
"Waitin' f'r relatives to come and git you, I reckon?" ventured Mr. McCaffrey.
