Throwing his horse furniture on the ground near the fire, he squatted in
the ring of boys about, and proceeded to roll a cigarette in a leisurely
way.
"Say, hombre," he said, looking at Ted. "You've got a mighty tidy outfit
yere."
Ted nodded, and continued to watch the stranger's face.
"Which outfit mought it be?" asked the cow-puncher, picking a live coal
out of the fire and placing the end of his cigarette against it.
"Moon Valley, Black Hills," said Ted.
"An' your name mought be----"
"Ted Strong."
The stranger paused with his cigarette halfway to his lips, and lifted
his eyebrows.
"Sho! Yer don't say?"
"But I do."
"Well, I'm right proud ter meet up with yer, an' be able ter do yer a
small service. My handle is numerous, not because I've ever had any
serious reason ter change ther one my daddy give me, but because ther
cow-punchers has a most humorous way o' hitchin' whatever label they
thinks fits onter a man."
"What's your present label?" asked Ted.
"Ther cognomen what I packs with me now is sure fantastical. I'm known
on ther Western free range as 'The Woofer.'"
"'The Woofer'? That's a strange name."
"It ain't my real name, which is 'Tennessee Al.'"
"How did you come to be named 'The Woofer'?"
"Well, it's jest a piece o' foolishness," said the cow-puncher, laughing
at the recollection of it.
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