His shirt was in tatters.

In one place it was ripped clean of the shoulder and Philip saw a purplish bruise where the flesh was bare.

He knew these for the marks of Billinger's presence at the wreck.

Now the man was equipped for other business.
A huge "forty-four" hung at his waist, a short carbine swung at his saddle-bow; and there was something in the manner of his riding, in the hunch of his shoulders, and in the vicious sweep of his long mustaches, that satisfied Philip he was a man who could use them.

He rode up alongside of him with a new confidence.