is
head, and his mouth, too, was large--a great horizontal slit beneath
his nose. His cheeks were of a brownish red, the cheek bones a little
salient. His face was that of a comic actor, a singer of songs, a man
never at a loss for an answer, continually striving to make a laugh.
But he took no great interest in ranching and left the management of
his land to his superintendents and foremen, he, himself, living in
Bonneville. He was a poser, a wearer of clothes, forever acting a part,
striving to create an impression, to draw attention to himself. He
was not without a certain energy, but he devoted it to small ends, to
perfecting himself in little accomplishments, continually running after
some new thing, incapable of persisting long in any one course. At one
moment his mania would be fencing; the next, sleight-of-hand tricks;
the next, archery. For upwards of one month he had devoted himself to
learning how to play two banjos simultaneously, then abandoning this
had developed a sudden passion for stamped leather work and had made a
quantity of purses, tennis belts, and hat bands, which he presented to
young ladies of his acquaintance. It was his policy never to make an
enemy. He was liked far better than he was respected. People spoke of
him as "that goat Osterman," or "that fool Osterman kid," and invited
him to dinner. He was of the sort who somehow cannot be ignored. If only
because of his clamour he made himself important. If he had one abiding
trait, it was his desire of astonishing people, and in some way,
best known to himself, managed to cause the circulation of the most
extraordinary stories wherein he, himself, was the chief actor. He
was glib, voluble, dexterous, ubiquitous, a teller of funny stories, a
cracker of jokes.

Naturally enough, he was heavily in debt, but carried the burden of it
with perfect nonchalance. The year before S. Behrman had held mortgages
for fully a third of his crop and had squeezed him viciously for
interest. But for all that, Osterman and S. Behrman were continually
seen arm-in-arm on the main street of Bonneville. Osterman was
accustomed to slap S. Behrman on his fat back, declaring:

"You're a good fellow, old jelly-belly, after all, hey?"

As Osterman entered from the porch, after hanging his cavalry poncho and
dripping hat on the rack outside, Mrs. Derrick appeared in the door that
opened from the dining-room into the glass-roofed hallway just beyond.
Osterman saluted her w