Bull turned his head slowly and then blinked, for it was the unshaven
face of his cousin, Harry Campbell, that he saw. With his eyes closed,
Bull wondered why that face was so distinctly unpleasant. When he
opened them again, Harry had drawn closer, his hat pushed on the back
of his head after the manner of a baffled man, and a faint smile
working at the corners of his lips. He took the limp hand of Bull in
his and squeezed it cautiously. Then he laid the hand back on the
sheet and grinned more confidently at Bull.
"Well, I'll be hanged, Bull, here you are as big as life, pretty near,
and you don't act like you knew me!"
"Sure I do. Sit down, Harry. What brung you all this ways?"
"Why, anxious to see how you was doing."
Again Bull blinked. Such anxiety from Harry was a mystery.
"They ain't talking about much else up our way," said Harry, "but how
you come across the mountains in the storm, and how big you are, and
how you got the sheriff, and how you rushed Pete Reeve bare-handed.
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