 His iron constitution was somewhat broken by mountain pneumonia, and he had drifted back to live in milder country for a while. He had relatives in Bismarck, a German settlement to the north of us, but for a year now he had been working for grandfather. The minute supper was over, Otto took me into the kitchen to whisper to me about a pony down in the barn that had been bought for me at a sale. He had been riding him to find out whether he had any bad tricks, but he was a perfect gentleman. And his name was Dude. So that's the cowboy, right?