That name caused a sharp shifting of glances, not at Bull, but from man to man.  A tall fellow rose.  He advanced with his thumbs hooked importantly in the arm holes of his vest and braced his legs apart as he faced Bull.  The elevation of the veranda floor raised him so that he was actually some inches above the head of his interlocutor, and the tall man was deeply grateful for that advantage.  He was, in truth, a little vain of his own height, and to have to look up to anyone irritated him beyond words.  Having established his own superior position, he looked the giant over from head to foot.  He kept one eye steadily on Bull, as though afraid that the big man might dodge out of sight and elude him.

“And what might you have to do with Pete Reeve?” he asked.  “Mightn’t you be a partner of Pete’s?  Kind of looks like you was following him sort of eager, friend.”

While this question was being asked, Bull saw that the line of idlers settled forward in their chairs to hear the answer.  It puzzled him.  For some mysterious reason these men disapproved of any one who was intimately acquainted with Pete Reeve, it seemed.  He looked blandly upon the tall man.

“I never seen Pete Reeve,” said Bull apologetically.

“Ah?  Yet you’re follerin’ him hotfoot?”

“I was aiming to see him, you know,” answered Bull.

The tall man regarded him with eyes that began to twinkle beneath his frown.  Then he jerked his head aside and cast at his audience a prodigious wink.  The cloudy eyes of Bull had assured him that he had to do with a simpleton, and he was inviting the others in on the game.

“You never seen him?” he asked gruffly, turning back to Bull.  “You expect me to believe talk like that?  Young man, d’you know who I am?”

“I dunno,” murmured Bull, overawed and drawing back a pace.

The action drew a chuckle from the crowd.  Some of the idlers even rose and sauntered to the edge of the veranda, the better to see the baiting of the giant.  His prodigious size made his timidity the more amusing.

“You dunno, eh?” asked the other.  “Well, son, I’m Sheriff Bill Anderson!” He waited to see the effect of this portentous announcement.

“I never heard tell of any Sheriff Bill Anderson,” said Bull in the same mild voice.

The sheriff gasped.  The idlers hastily veiled their mouths with much coughing and clearing of the throat.  It seemed that the tables had been subtly turned upon the sheriff.

“You!” exclaimed the sheriff, extending a bony arm.  “I got to tell you, partner, that I’m a pile suspicious.  I’m suspicious of anybody that’s a friend of Pete Reeve.  How long have you knowed him?”

Bull was very anxious to pacify the tall man.  He shifted his weight to the other foot.  “Something less’n nothing,” he hastened to explain.  “I ain’t never seen him.”

“And why d’you want to see him?  What d’you know about him?”