Together they had a look at him.
He was a small, ruddy-faced man with carroty blond hair and a peculiarly boyish appearance as he lay doubled up like a jack-knife, profoundly asleep.

Tatpan looked at his big, silver watch and in a low voice described how the stranger had stumbled into camp, so tired he could scarcely put one foot ahead of the other; and that he had dropped down where he now lay when he learned Alan was with one of the other herds.
"He must have come a long distance," said Tatpan, "and he has traveled fast." Something familiar about the man grew upon Alan.

Yet he could not place him.

He wore a gun, which he had unbelted and placed within reach of his hand on the grass.

His chin was pugnaciously prominent, and in sleep the mysterious stranger had crooked a forefinger and thumb about his revolver in a way that spoke of caution and experience.
"If he is in such a hurry to see me, you might awaken him," said Alan.
He turned a little aside and knelt to drink at a tiny stream of water that ran down from the snowy summits, and he could hear Tatpan rousing the stranger.