ng.
Yet Sanderson divined that the other was inwardly laughing at him.
Why? Sanderson did not know. He was aware that he must seem awkward
in the role of brother, and he suspected that the little man had
noticed it; possibly the little man was one of those keen-witted and
humorously inclined persons who find amusement in the incongruous.

There was certainly humor in the man's face, in the glint of his eyes,
and in the curve of his lips. His face was seamed and wrinkled; his
ears were big and prominent, the tips bending outward under the brim of
a felt hat that was too large for him; his mouth was large, and
Sanderson's impression of it was that it could not be closed far enough
to conceal all the teeth, but that the lips were continually trying to
stretch far enough to accomplish the feat.

Sanderson was certain it was that continual effort of the muscles of
the lips that gave to his mouth its humorous expression.

The man was not over five feet and two or three inches tall, and
crowning his slender body was a head that was entirely out of
proportion to the rest of him. He was not repulsive-looking, however,
and a glance at his eyes convinced Sanderson that anything Providence
had taken from his body had been added, by way of compensation, to his
intellect.

Sanderson found it hard to resent the man's seeming impertinence. He
grinned reluctantly at him.

"Did I tell you you'd hurt my feelin's?" he inquired. "What oven do
you think I had my head in?"

"I didn't say," grinned the little man. "There's places that are
hotter than an oven. And if a man has never been a wolf with women, it
might be expected that he'd feel sort of warm to be kissed and fussed
over by a sister he's not seen for a good many years. He'd seem like a
stranger to her--almost."

Sanderson's eyes glowed with a new interest in the little man.

"How did you know I wasn't a wolf with women?"

"Shucks," said the other; "you're bashful, and you don't run to vanity.
Any fool could see that."

"I ain't been introduced to you--regular," said Sanderson, "but you
seem to be a heap long on common sense, an' I'd be glad to know you.
What did you say your name was?"

"Barney Owen."

"What you doin' at the Double A? You ought be herd-ridin' scholars in
a district schoolhouse."

"Missed my calling," grinned the other. "I got to know too much to
teach school, but didn't know enough to let John Barleycorn alone. I'm
a drifter, sort of.