His tall form drooped with weariness, and his unshaven face, dark and deeply tanned, and grimed with sweat and dirt, was thin and drawn and old, and his tired eyes, deep set in their dark hollows, were bloodshot as though from sleepless nights.

His dry lips parted in a painful smile, as he dismounted stiffly and limped courteously forward to greet them.
"I know that I am scarcely presentable," he said in a voice that was as worn and old as his face, "but I could not resist the temptation to say 'Howdy'.

Perhaps I should introduce myself though," he added, as if to save them from embarrassment.

"My name is Lawrence Knight; I am a deputy sheriff of this county." A slight movement as he spoke threw back his unbuttoned jumper, and they saw the badge of his office.

"In my official capacity I am taking a prisoner to Prescott." Phil recovered first, and caught the officer's hand in a grip that told more than words.
Kitty nearly betrayed her secret when she gasped, "But you--you said that you--" With his ready skill he saved her, "That my name was Patches?
I know it was wrong to deceive you as I did, and I regret that it was necessary for me to lie so deliberately, but the situation seemed to demand it.
And I hoped that when you understood you would forgive the part I was forced to play for the good of everyone interested." Kitty understood the meaning in his words that was unknown to Phil, and her eyes expressed the gratitude that she could not speak.
"By the way," Patches continued, "I am not mistaken in offering my congratulations and best wishes, am I ?" They laughed happily.
"We have made no announcement yet," Phil answered, "but you seem to know everything." "I feel like saying from the bottom of my heart 'God bless you, my children.' You make me feel strangely old," he returned, with a touch of his old wistfulness.