“‘Asleep in yon corner.’
“Dixon stepped forward, and waked a good-looking man, who had fallen asleep on several bales of gunny-cloth.
“‘You’ve got a dead man on the train,’ Dixon said to the conductor, when he opened his eyes.
“‘A dead man!’ cried the express messenger, before the conductor, recovering from his sleep, could utter a single ejaculation.
“‘A man as dead as Chelsea! Come and see him.’
“The messenger picked up a lantern, and the two left the car.
“‘I recollect him,” said the conductor Golden, looking at the dead traveller. ‘He boarded the train at Monterey, and was my only through passenger. There’s two stabs in his left breast! You’ve noticed them, I suppose?’
“‘Oh, yes—nothing ever escapes me,’ replied the detective, with a smile. ‘Do not either of you gentlemen know aught about him?’
“The messenger shook his head without replying, and the conductor said—
“‘I’ve met him once or twice before. I think his name is Hardesty. Concerning his home or his people, I know nothing.’