There was no answer.

“Most like he’s reading,” observed Joe.  “He don’t never hear nothing then.  Go look for him, Harry.”

Big Harry strode to the door of the hut.

“How come he understands books?” said the girl.  “I couldn’t never make nothing out of ’em.”

“Me neither,” agreed Joe in sympathy.  “But maybe Bull don’t understand.  He just likes to read because he can sit still and do it.  Never was a lazier gent than Bull.”

Harry turned at the door of the shack.  “Yep, reading,” he announced with disgust.  He cupped his hands over his mouth and bellowed through the doorway, “Hey!”

There was a startled grunt within, a deep, heavy voice and a thick articulation.  Presently a huge man came into the doorway and leaned there, his figure filling it.  There was nothing freakish about his build.  He was simply over-normal in bulk, from the big head to the heavy feet.  He was no more than a youth in age, but the great size and the bewildered puckering of his forehead made him seem older.  The book was still in his hand.

“Hey,” returned Harry, “we didn’t call you out here to read to us.  Leave the book behind!”

Bull looked down at the book in his hand, seemed to waken from a trance, then, with a muffled sound of apology, dropped the book behind him.

“Come here!”

He slumped out from the house.  His gait was like his body, his stride large and loose.  The lack of nervous energy which kept his mind from a high tension was shown again in the heavy fall of his feet and the forward slump of his head.  His hands dangled aimlessly at his sides, as though in need of occupation.  A ragged thatch of blond hair covered his head and it was sunburned to straw color at the edges.

His costume was equally rough.  He wore no belt, but one strap, from his right hip, crossed behind his back, over the bulging muscles of his shoulder to the front of his left hip.  The trousers, which this simple brace supported, were patched overalls, frayed to loose threads halfway down the calf where they were met by the tops of immense cowhide boots.  As for the shirt, the sleeves were inches too short, and the unbuttoned cuffs flapped around the burly forearms.  If it had been fastened together at the throat he would have choked.  He seemed, in a word, to be bulging out of his clothes.  One expected a mighty rending if he made a strong effort.

This bulk of a man slouched forward with steps both huge and hesitant, pausing between them.  When he saw the girl he stopped short, and his brow puckered more than before.  One felt that, coming from the shadow, he was dazed and startled by the brilliant mountain sunshine; and the eyes were dull and alarmed.  It was a handsome face in a way, but a little too heavy with flesh, too inert, like the rest of his body and his muscular movements.

“She ain’t going to bite you,” said Harry Campbell.  “Come on over here to the stump.”  He whispered to the girl, “Laugh at him!”