, what can I do for you? Those critters are
worth a hundred dollars or more to this outfit. I'll split with you."

"No, you won't, stranger, seein' it's all ther same ter you. I may be a
measly, fleabitten, hongry, lone maverick o' ther plains, but thar's one
thing I ain't, an' that's a 'lost and found' department, 'suitable
reward offered, an' no questions asked.' When I picks up a man's strays
I hands 'em in if I can find him, or if I was so blame' hongry I
couldn't resist ther temptation I might butcher one fer ther sake o'
sinkin' my molars inter a tenderloin steak. But thet's ther wust a
feller could say fer me. If ther critters aire yours, take 'em, an'
welcome."

"All right, pardner," said Ted, who had taken a fancy to the fellow. "At
least, you'll eat with us."

"Shore I'll break bread. I'm as hongry ez a shipwrecked sailor. When
does ther tocsin sound?"

"The dinner bell will ring in about half an hour. Get down and turn your
cayuse out to graze, and join us about the fire."

"Which means ter open ther mouth o' my war bag, an' give up my
pedigree."

"Something like that," said Ted, with a laugh.

The ungainly cow-puncher slid out of his saddle like an eel, and slipped
the saddle and bridle off his pony, and, giving it a slap on the haunch,
sent it out to eat.

Throwing his horse furniture on the ground near the fire, he squatted in
the ring of boys about, and proceeded to roll a cigarette in a leisurely
way.

"Say, hombre," he said, looking at Ted. "You've got a mighty tidy outfit
yere."

Ted nodded, and continued to watch the stranger's face.

"Which outfit mought it be?" asked the cow-puncher, picking a live coal
out of the fire and placing the end of his cigarette against it.

"Moon Valley, Black Hills," said Ted.

"An' your name mought be----"

"Ted Strong."

The stranger paused with his cigarette halfway to his lips, and lifted
his eyebrows.

"Sho! Yer don't say?"

"But I do."

"Well, I'm right proud ter meet up with yer, an' be able ter do yer a
small service. My handle is numerous, not because I've ever had any
serious reason ter change ther one my daddy give me, but because ther
cow-punchers has a most humorous way o' hitchin' whatever label they
thinks fits onter a man."

"What's your present label?" asked Ted.

"Ther cognomen what I packs with me now is sure fantastical. I'm known
on ther Western free range as 'The Woofer.'"

"'The Woofer'? That's a strange name."

"It