He stepped out into the track and walked slowly forward with Murphy at his elbow. They had not gone a dozen paces when they saw two men coming out of the woods on to the track only a short distance ahead of them.
“Thought I heard you over there in the brush,” one of the men explained. “You were so late comin’ that we started out to meet you.”
By this time the man was close enough to recognize his mistake even in that uncertain light. He stopped short and eyed them suspiciously.
“Thought you was some one else,” he growled. “Where might you be from, stranger?”
Scott evaded the question. “We did not know where we were when we ran on to this track. Where does it go?”
“Where you all trying to get to?” the man countered.
“Old St. Joseph town,” Scott said, remembering what Murphy had told him about the terminus of the railroad.
The man still eyed him curiously. “Ain’t no town there now,” he said.
“I know there isn’t,” Scott replied. “We just wanted to size up the harbor. Do you live here?”
“Campin’ here,” the man said, “huntin’.”