"Naturally you don't know me," said the man, with a series of nods. "I am the guy that made the swap with you. Hank Foyle's my name—Foyle of Athabasca Landing."
The stranger paused, confident that the reiteration of his name would clear up matters. But Ned still looked at him with a nonplussed expression. His father's face had grown white while the nails of the old man's clenched hands dug into the flesh.
"Sorry I'm so dense," said Ned, with a good-natured laugh. "Would you mind going into detail a little?"
Foyle looked at him keenly, studying the firm mouth and chin and the direct eyes. There was something fearless in that face that hinted the possibility of a serious hitch.
"You ain't changed your mind?" said Foyle, with a narrowing of his eyelids. "You're a month late, farmer. The deal's salted away long ago, all regular signed and witnessed. You are no soft come-back, are you?"
Ned still smiled his perplexed smile.
"Very well!" said he affably. "What is the deal to which you refer? I'm open to rather detailed explanation, for I have heard of no such project."
The man rose and stepped up to Ned, looking curiously into his face.
"Say, Pard," said he quizzically, "are you Edward Pullar or just plain hired man?"
"There is Edward Pullar," said Ned, pointing to his father. "He is owner of this farm."