Gale did not fail to note, also,
that these cowboys wore guns, and this fact was rather a shock to
his idea of the modern West. It caused him to give some credence
to the rumors of fighting along the border, and he felt a thrill.
He satisfied his hunger in a restaurant adjoining, and as he
stepped back into the saloon a man wearing a military cape jostled
him. Apologies from both were instant. Gale was moving on when
the other stopped short as if startled, and, leaning forward,
exclaimed:
"Dick Gale?"
"You've got me," replied Gale, in surprise. "But I don't know you."
He could not see the stranger's face, because it was wholly shaded
by a wide-brimmed hat pulled well down.
"By Jove! It's Dick! If this isn't great! Don't you know me?"
"I've heard your voice somewhere," replied Gale. "Maybe I'll
recognize you if you come out from under that bonnet."
For answer the man, suddenly manifesting thought of himself,
hurriedly drew Gale into the restaurant, where he thrust back his
hat to disclose a handsome, sunburned face.
"George Thorne! So help me--"
"'S-s-ssh. You needn't yell," interrupted the other, as he met
Gale's outstretched hand. There was a close, hard, straining grip.
"I must not be recognized here. There are reasons. I'll explain in
a minute. Say, but it's fine to see you! Five years, Dick, five
years since I saw you run down University Field and spread-eagle the
whole Wisconsin football team.
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