Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. After all, this could never be the black sheep. Why did the beggar hang on down there, when he could have enjoyed all that civilization had to offer? Yes, he would be mighty glad to see McClintock; and the sooner he came the better. We came on here at once.
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