Simon Hooper swiped at the bar more from habit than intention, splashed golden liquid into a glass with only a small chip on the rim and served it to the tall man with the loose-jointed grace of a cowhand.The man looked up as he lifted the glass, and Hooper snapped his fingers."Hey, I remember you. You're that Texan, name of Dusaq, ain't you? Should have recognized you right off. Specially with that Texas brim. You worked at the Widow Terhune's place back a year ago, didn't you? I remember now, you came in the summer and left at spring roundup. Never knew a cowhand to follow such a schedule.” He chuckled. “That's what you did, though, ain't it?""Yep.""Knew it. Knew I'd seen that face. Well, how do you like that? Where you been all summer?""Texas.""Texas? Why, I bet you've got something to do with the herd of longhorns we heard is trailing this way.""Yep.""Pretty late to be bringing a herd up. If you're thinking of grazing them for market, they don't have no time to fatten up. So maybe you're thinking of selling them to some buyer around here who's looking to build his herd, huh?"Hopper waited expectantly, but not overlong, for an answer.
