Before the brothers had a chance to talk any further, the stranger came to a halt at the door. His horse was a “rangy” animal and undoubtedly possessed both speed and bottom; and the trappings, although showing signs of hard usage, were of the best. The ragged and tattered man in the saddle did not harmonize with his equipment. Any one could see, with half an eye, that something was wrong. “Who are you?” demanded Lige Benner roughly. The man on the horse pulled down the brim of his ragged old hat, drew the back of a dirty hand across his lips and answered: “Gringo Pete Billings is the handle I tote, amigo. Don’t go fer ter think I’m as tough as what I look, kase I ain’t.” “You couldn’t be, gringo,” spoke up Jerry, with a cackle. Gringo Pete pulled himself together and stared at the big-headed, short-bodied, long-armed form at Lige Benner’s side. “Say, I’m convarsin’ with Lige Benner. Aire you him? Which of ye is him, huh?” “I’m Lige Benner,” said the rancher. “Then kindly request Leetle Sawed-off ter hold his yaup. I want him ter cork, I do. I don’t jest savvy what he says, but someways his tork grinds on me er heap.” “Never mind what you like, or don’t like,” returned Lige Benner sharply. “Tell us what you want here?” “I want er job, that’s what.” “Where are you from?” “Ever’whar. Thar ain’t no settled place whar I hail from.” “What sort of a job do you want?” “Ain’t pertic’ler. Anythin’ I kin git.” “What can you do?” “Whatever anybody wants me ter do. I ain’t pertic’ler about that, nuther.” “What ails your eye?” “Had er argyment with er greaser. The eye’ll be all right in er month, but the greaser’ll be laid up fer a y’ar, anyways. Oh, I’m some persimmons on the wrassle! Ain’t no three greasers kin git the best o’ me when I’m feelin’ right.” “What have you been doing lately?” Gringo Pete ran his one uncovered eye thoughtfully over Lige Benner, then lifted it thoughtfully to the blue sky. “Say,” he answered finally, “you got ter have my pussonal hist’ry? Kase if ye hev, I reckon I’ll look fer a job some’rs else.” He picked up the reins as though he would ride on. “Wait, Gringo!” chirped Jerry. “Lige, stop him. He’ll be useful to us.” “I was going to stop him, anyway,” returned Lige Benner, getting around in front of Gringo’s horse. “Don’t be in a rush,” he added. “You’ve got a horse here that don’t belong to you.” “Waal,” returned Gringo, “does it belong ter you?” “No.” “Then what reason ye got ter find fault, huh?” “No reason at all. I’d like to know, though, where you stole the animal, and how.” “I didn’t steal it--jest borried it.” “Well, where did you ‘borrow’ the horse?” “Back at the Star-A ranch. Walked inter the c’ral big as life, put on the gear an’ rode off. That’s all thar was to it. When I git through with the critter, I’m goin’ ter take it back.” “You must be a pretty slick thief if you could steal a horse belonging to one of Buffalo Bill’s pards, and make a safe getaway.”