The Mexican gave another long look at the cabin, studying every point, even to the roof.  Then he tried to see into the shed where Starr kept his saddle and where Rabbit could shelter himself from the cold winds.  There was no door, no front, even, on the side toward the house.  But the end of the shed was built out into the corral so that the fellow could not see around its corner.

He moved along the fence, which gave Starr a very good idea of his height, and down to the very corner of the vacant laundry building.  There he stopped and looked again.  He was eyeing Starr’s saddle, apparently taking in every detail of its workmanship.  He looked again at Rabbit, who was turned then so that his brand, the double Turkey-track, stood out plainly on both thighs.  Then, with another slant-eyed inspection of the cabin, he ducked down behind the fence and disappeared, his going betrayed by his hat crown which was taller than he imagined and showed a good four inches above the fence.

Starr had edged along the dark wall of the room so that he had kept the man in sight.  Now, when the hat crown moved away down the trail that skirted the garbage-filled arroyo, he snorted, threw his gun down on the bed, and began to dress himself, rummaging in his “warbag” for a gray checked cap and taking down from the wall a gray suit that he had never liked and had never worn since the day it came from the mail, looking altogether different from the four-inch square he had chosen from a tailor agent’s sample book.  He snorted again when he had the suit on, and surveyed it with a dissatisfied, downward glance.  In his opinion he looked like a preacher trying to disguise himself as a sport, but to complete the combination he unearthed a pair of tan shoes and put them on.  After that he stood for a minute staring down the fresh-creased gray trousers to his toes.

“Looks like the very devil!” he snorted again.  “But anyway, it’s different.”  He dusted the cap by the simple expedient of slapping it several times against his leg.  When he had hung it on the back of his head and pulled it well down in front—­as nine out of ten men always put on a cap—­he did indeed look different, though he did not look at all like the demon he named.  Helen May, for instance, would have needed a second close glance before she recognized him, but that glance would probably have carried with it a smile for his improved appearance.

He surveyed as much of the neighborhood as he could see through the windows, looked at his watch, and saw that it was late enough for him to appear down town without exciting comment from the early birds, and went out into the corral and fed Rabbit.  He looked over the fence where the Mexican had stood, but the faint imprints of the man’s boots were not definite enough to tell him anything.  He surveyed the neighborhood from different angles and could see no trace of any one watching the place, so he felt fairly satisfied that the fellow had gone for the present, though he believed it very likely that he might return later.