nd "Stone" was a common enough name.

"All right, Mr. Rolling Stone," said Bud. "If that's your choice it
still leaves the other question unanswered. Where are you from?"

"Everywhere and anywhere, which is to say nowhere," came the reply.
"You need only to look at me to tell what I am--a happy-go-lucky
individual, a tramp, a hobo, and yet I am willing to work when the
spirit is on me. I never stole a dollar or a dollar's worth in all my
life. I have harmed neither man, woman or child. I am my own worst
enemy, and I am--frankly--hungry! If you will give me food I'll pay
for it in work to the best of my ability--"

"You said you had some skill with wild animals," interrupted Bud. "Do
you mean--"

"I don't mean _horses_, if you will excuse the interruption," the man
said. "There is my one failing. I used to be with a circus, and the
lion and I were good friends. Perhaps some taint of the wild beast
odor clings to me, which causes horses to rear up and tear. Or else--"

"That didn't cause these ponies to act that way," laughed Bud, who,
with his cousins, was rapidly forming a liking for the stranger.
"They're half wild themselves. Just in off the range, and they haven't
been broken yet. I doubt if Yellin' Kid would tackle one. It isn't
anything to your discredit that you got out in a hurry. But you say
you're hungry?"

That was an appeal which never went unheeded in the west.

"Mightily hungry, fair sir!" and, though Rolling Stone smiled, there
was an appealing note in his voice. "The last meal I had for nothing
was given me by Hank Fowler."

"Hank Fowler!" cried Bud.

"The sheriff?" added Nort.

"Who sent on to Mr. Merkel the message from Rosemary?" completed Dick.

"Rosemary--that's for remembrance," quoted Rolling Stone with a smile.
"I know her not, and yet Hank Fowler is a sheriff to my certain
knowledge."

"Do you mean the one from La Nogalique?" persisted Bud.

"That same. I appealed to him when I was down on my luck, as I nearly
always am, and he befriended me. I have known him for years."

"Then there can't be much wrong with you," decided Bud. "If you want
work, my father can fix you up. We'll need some extra hands if we pull
out a lot to take the trail after the Yaquis. So--"

"Excuse me, young man. But did you say--_Yaquis_?" asked Rolling
Stone, and there was a new and eager note in his voice.

"Yes," supplemented Nort. "The Yaquis--Indians you know--have gone
wild ag