It seemed as if the peaceful afternoons of Logan were ended forever, for
the next day the scene of interruption was repeated under almost
identical circumstances, save that the tree under which the shepherd sat
was a little larger. Larger also was the man who rode over the brow of
the hill to the east. The most durable cattle-pony would have staggered
under the bulk of that rider, and therefore he rode a great,
patient-eyed bay, with shoulders worthy of shoving against a
work-collar; but the neck tapered down small behind a short head, and
the legs, for all their breadth at shoulder and hip, slipped away to
small hoofs, and ankles which sloped sharply to the rear, the sure sign
of the fine saddle-horse.

Yet the strong horse was winded by the burden he bore, a mighty figure,
deep-chested, amply shouldered, an ideal cavalier for the days when
youths rode out in armour-plate to seek adventures and when men of
fifty still lifted the lance to run a "friendly" course or two in the
lists.

At sight of him Logan so far bestirred himself as to uncoil his long
legs, rise, and stand with one shoulder propped against the tree.

"Evening, Mr. Drew," he called.

"Hello, Logan. How's everything with you?"

He would have ridden on, but at Logan's reply he checked his horse to a
slow walk.

"Busy. Lots of company lately, Mr. Drew."

"Company?"

"Yes, there's a young feller come along who says he wants to see you.
He's over there by the creek now, fishin' I think. I told him I'd holler
if I seen you, but I guess you wouldn't mind ridin' over that way
yourself."

Drew brought his horse to a halt.

"What does he want of me?"

"Dunno. Something about wanting to hunt and fish on your streams here."

"Why didn't you tell him he was welcome to do what he liked? Must be an
Easterner, Logan."

"Wants to bunk in the old house, too. Seems sort of interested in it."

"That so? What sort of a fellow is he?"

"All right. A bit talky. Green; but he rides damn well, an' he smokes
good tobacco."

His hand automatically rose and touched his breast pocket.

"I'll go over to him," said Drew, and swung his horse to the left, but
only to come again to a halt.

He called over his shoulder: "What sort of a looking fellow?"

"Pretty keen--dark," answered Logan, slipping down into his original
position. "Thin face; black eyes."

"Ah, yes," murmured Drew, and started at a trot for the creek.

Once more he imitated the actions of Bard