“Good-evening,” he said.
The two men stood looking at each other as two men meeting, perfect strangers and in such a place, must necessarily look; and though neither touched his revolver, each was ready to draw and fire.
It seemed to Trafford that he had seen the tall, well-knit figure before, but he did not identify it, for the moment, with the horseman Johnson, the driver, had pointed out.
He was the first to speak; the silence between them was becoming unendurable.
“I am a stranger here,” he said, “and I have lost my way.”
Varley glanced round.
“That is not at all difficult,” he said.
“No,” assented Trafford. “What place is this?”
“It is called Raven Claim,” answered Varley.