Without knowing exactly why, Dyke received the impression that the young man had not been in bed all of that night.
As the two approached each other, Dyke eyed the young fellow.

He was distrustful of Vanamee, having the country-bred suspicion of any person he could not understand.

Vanamee was, beyond doubt, no part of the life of ranch and country town.

He was an alien, a vagabond, a strange fellow who came and went in mysterious fashion, making no friends, keeping to himself.

Why did he never wear a hat, why indulge in a fine, black, pointed beard, when either a round beard or a mustache was the invariable custom?
Why did he not cut his hair?
Above all, why did he prowl about so much at night?
As the two passed each other, Dyke, for all his good-nature, was a little blunt in his greeting and looked back at the ex-shepherd over his shoulder.
Dyke was right in his suspicion.