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"Look, Tom! There is a real westerner!" Harry Hazelton's eyes sparkled, his whole manner was one of intense interest. "Eh?" queried Tom Reade, turning around from his distant view of a sharp, towering peak of the Rockies. "There's the real thing in the way of a westerner," Harry Hazelton insisted in a voice in which there was some awe. "I don't believe he is," retorted Tom skeptically. "You're going to say, I suppose, that the man is just some freak escaped from the pages of a dime novel?" demanded Harry. "No; he looks more like a hostler on a leave of absence from a stranded Wild West show," Tom replied slowly.
"Look, Tom! There is a real westerner!" Harry Hazelton's eyes sparkled, his whole manner was one of intense interest. "Eh?" queried Tom Reade, turning around from his distant view of a sharp, towering peak of the Rockies. "There's the real thing in the way of a westerner," Harry Hazelton insisted in a voice in which there was some awe. "I don't believe he is," retorted Tom skeptically. "You're going to say, I suppose, that the man is just some freak escaped from the pages of a dime novel?" demanded Harry. "No; he looks more like a hostler on a leave of absence from a stranded Wild West show," Tom replied slowly.
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