The new-comer stared, and said ‘Hm!’ doubtfully. He looked from the other man’s pale, clean-shaven face to his white hands.
‘New to this kind of game, ain’t you? he asked, at length.
‘For a year or two,’ the other answered.
‘I spotted the trail you made from the platform,’ said the new-comer. ‘I seen something had been dragged away. I was bound to follow.’ There was a part apology in his tone, as if he knew himself unwelcome. ‘You might have been Indians,’ he added, ‘or any kind of riff-raff.’
‘Quite so,’ said the man of the camp. ‘Not many of ‘em hereabouts, I suppose?’
‘One or two in a year, perhaps. And harmless, what there is of ‘em; but as thievish as a set of jackdaws.’
‘You in charge of the station?’ asked the man of the camp, looking composedly down the canon and sipping at his tea.
‘Yes, I’m in charge.’
‘Alone?’
‘Alone? Yes.’