There being no established rule against walking in that country, Rawlins determined to walk.
Oh, yes, plenty of people walked around in that country, the land-commissioner-editor said. Sheep-herders, mainly, and shearers on the go from job to job. Nobody cared how a man traveled, as far as he knew, the official said. It was only about a hundred miles; a man with a good leg and sound wind ought to make it in three or four days.
Rawlins thought so too. He rolled such of his possessions as he felt he should have immediate need for, making them as few as possible, in a blanket and roped it neatly; bought a canteen and put his foot on the road. It was a well-worn road, appearing as if much business must flourish along its way.
Except the newness of the blanket, and the rope binding it, there was nothing in the traveler's appearance either conspicuously strange or raw. He was a pretty well-set-up young fellow of twenty-five or six, perhaps a little above the general stature, quick-striding, alert. A fair-skinned man, rather large of visage, especially as to the nose and mouth; his hair dark, eyes grey, direct, deep-probing. At times he whistled a little tune with a peculiar melodious sharpness through his teeth as he walked, drawing his lips back to give it passage, making him seem to smile.
His brown duck coat and tall laced boots he had worn on the stockyards job; they were seasoned with livestock association. Likewise his broad-brimmed grey hat, of pattern in keeping with the accepted standards of the sheep country. He would pass very well in the eyes of ranchmen and flockmasters met on
