The fellow was the same red-moustached individual whom I had watched disembark from the steamer that same afternoon, slipping in the yellow mud as he surmounted the bank, dragging his valise along after him.

So it was this fellow passenger who had given these fugitives refuge; it was his presence in these parts which had decided Kirby to make the venture ashore.

He glanced up at our entrance, the glare of light overhead revealing a deep, ugly scar across his chin, and a pair of deep-set, scowling eyes.
"Back in time fer supper, hey, Kennedy," he growled, none too cordially.

"Who's yer frien' ?" "A feller whut's goin' ter enlist.

He's all right, Jack," the deputy hiccoughed thickly.