It was characteristic of him, for one thing, that he had no nickname.

In a country where almost every one's name was familiarly shortened into Hank, or Bill, or Jim, or was changed to Kid, or Red, or Shorty, he remained Henry--not even Harry.
He threw off his hat and slicker, stamped to shake off the moisture that clung to his boots, sat down, and prepared to make himself at home.
"Go ahead, Injun," said Jim Walker.

"You was just at th' most interestin' part." Injun rose, walked to a bucket in a corner, poured himself a dipper of water, and drank calmly.

Then he returned, sat down and looked straight ahead of him.

There was a painful tension, of which Dorgan did not seem to be aware.