There was a rustle amid the shrubbery.
With a start Hammerswell dropped the blazing match and clapped his hand on his hip pocket. He had reached for his revolver, but it was not there.
“Forgot I’d lost it,” he muttered, falling back a step.
Forth from the shrubbery advanced the dark figure of a man.
“Who are you?” demanded Hammerswell.
“I guess you know me,” answered a voice. “I’ve been watching for you. Wasn’t sure it was you till I saw your face by the light of that match.”
Hammerswell was startled and astounded by the voice.
“Is it you, Luke Grimes?” he demanded.
“Hit it first guess,” was the retort.
“Well, what in blazes are you doing here? I supposed you were well on your way to San Francisco.”