"I think he did, years ago. Think you know him?"
"It seems to me I've met him before—or met somebody that looked like him," answered Dave, slowly. He was trying in vain to place those features.
"Don't you remember the name?"
"No."
"We ain't on very good terms any more, otherwise I'd give you a knock-down to him," went on the cowboy.
"I don't know that I care for an introduction," answered Dave. "He doesn't look like a person I'd want for a friend—he looks rather dissipated."
"He was a good man when he worked for Mr. Endicott. But he's not so good since he went over to Merwell."
There the talk about Hank Snogger ended. Once or twice the man looked curiously at Dave.
Each time something in his face struck the youth as decidedly familiar. Yet, try his best, the boy could not place the fellow.
"It's no use," he told himself at last. "Perhaps I don't know him, after all. But I've seen a face like that somewhere—I am sure of it."