The stranger with his carefully tailored clothing and his man-of-the-world face and bearing was as unlike this rider of the unfenced lands as a daintily groomed thoroughbred from the sheltered and guarded stables of fashion is unlike a wild, untamed stallion from the hills and ranges about Granite Mountain.

Yet, unlike as they were, there was a something that marked them as kin.

The man of the ranges and the man of the cities were, deep beneath the surface of their beings, as like as the spirited thoroughbred and the unbroken wild horse.

The cowboy was all that the stranger might have been.

The stranger was all that the cowboy, under like conditions, would have been.
As they silently faced each other it seemed for a moment that each instinctively recognized this kinship.