Evidently, also, he had not yet perceived the remains of the "Pilgrim," otherwise the presence of the shipwrecked would very naturally be explained to him.

Besides, during the night the surf had finished demolishing the ship's hull; there was nothing left but the wrecks that floated in the offing.
At the first moment the unknown, seeing four armed men marching toward him, made a movement as if he would retrace his steps.

He carried a gun in a shoulder-belt, which passed rapidly into his hand, and from his hand to his shoulder.

They felt that he was not reassured.
Dick Sand made a gesture of salutation, which doubtless the unknown understood, for, after some hesitation, he continued to advance.
Dick Sand could then examine him with attention.
He was a vigorous man, forty years old at the most, his eyes bright, his hair and beard gray, his skin sunburnt like that of a nomad who has always lived in the open air, in the forest, or on the plain.

A kind of blouse of tanned skin served him for a close coat, a large hat covered his head, leather boots came up above his knees, and spurs with large rowels sounded from their high heels.
What Dick Sand noticed at first--and which was so, in fact--was that he had before him, not one of those Indians, habitual rovers over the pampas, but one of those adventurers of foreign blood, often not very commendable, who are frequently met with in those distant countries.
It also seemed, by his rather familiar attitude, by the reddish color of a few hairs of his beard, that this unknown must be of Anglo-Saxon origin.