Free Humbug Mountain by Sid Fleischman

truly sorry. There’s nothing to hold us in Sunrise. We can’t make a living out of weeds and jackrabbits.”
    â€œWe could collect buffalo bones!” Glorietta cried out. “Captain Cully said he’d pay good money for ’em.”
    I perked up at the idea. But I couldn’t help saying, “Glorietta, you said you’d rather perish than collect buffalo bones.” I turned to Pa. “Could we?”
    But Pa was no longer listening. He was gazing at the doorway. We stopped talking.
    The stranger had appeared.
    His hair was watered down and parted in the center, and he wore an old dark blue coat with brass buttons. I stared at him. We all stared at him. He was barefoot and seemed to have the dry wilts like the Fool Killer and almost everything else around Sunrise.
    â€œSlathers’s my name,” he muttered. “I brought my own tin mug. If I could have the borrow of a cup of coffee I’d be downright obliged.”
    â€œCertainly not,” Ma said, quickly gathering her wits. “Not unless you join us for supper. A place has been set, Mr. Slathers.
    He held back. I’d never seen a grown man so overcome by the bashfuls. He looked like he didn’t know where to get. Finally he said, “I’m mostly used to eating alone, m’am. I probably forgot my table manners. I never was one for the fuss and feathers of company.”
    â€œMr. Slathers, do come in,” Ma declared, smiling. “We’re plumb out of fuss and feathers. Just corn fritters and common doings.”
    Like a puff of wind he was gone.
    Pa gazed at the empty doorway and shook his head. “He appears to be a cast-iron hermit. I wonder if that brassbutton ship’s coat is really his own.”
    The room fell silent. I reckon each of us was thinking the same thing. If Mr. Slathers belonged to the Phoenix, he’d know a thing or two about Grandpa.
    â€œHis hair was slicked down and all,” Ma said. “He wanted to be sociable.”
    â€œHe’s hungry,” Pa said. “That’s certain.”
    Ma rose from her chair. “I’ll find him. I’ve got to talk to him, Rufus.”
    As suddenly as he had vanished Mr. Slathers reappeared in the doorway. He cleared his throat softly, two or three times. And I noticed he’d pulled on shoes. “I don’t suppose you’d have any use for this sorry old can of peaches,” he stammered.
    â€œI love peaches!” Glorietta blurted out.
    â€œBring them right in, Mr. Slathers,” Ma said. “How thoughtful of you! Peaches for dessert—I declare!” She accepted the can from his hands. “Sit right there between Glorietta and Wiley.”
    He slipped into his chair.
    â€œHowdy,” I said.
    â€œHello,” Glorietta said.
    â€œHello,” he said.
    â€œHowdy,” he said.
    Pa introduced Ma and himself, but he already seemed to know who we were. I reckoned he’d overheard a lot of talk with the outlaws. We got busy passing him the supper platters.
    â€œYou saved our lives and we’re eternally in your debt, Mr. Slathers,” Pa said.
    Now that he was seated among us he seemed to thaw out, little by little. After a long moment he said, “It was neighborly of you to leave me that grub last night.”
    â€œThat was Wiley’s doing,” Pa said.
    â€œI been hiding inside the ship’s furnace,” Mr. Slathers remarked. “Those two cutthroats never thought to look there.”
    â€œNeither did we!” I exclaimed.
    He smiled. “Thanks for the feed, Wiley. And m’am, these fritters are first-rate.”
    Mr. Slathers was turning friendly as a lamb. And talkative too, as if he’d stored up enough words to bust. He said he’d bunked down in the furnace months ago, when Shagnasty John and the Fool Killer first turned up. “They came aboard while I was over to Wolf Landing for supplies.”
    â€œWolf Landing?” Pa