“That’s better! Now, what do you want here?”
“I saw your camp-fire and I reckoned I might get some water for my horse and some supper for myself.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Thomson Tuttle.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Attendin’ to my own affairs and lettin’ other people’s alone.”
“You allowed just now it was my drop.” There was a note of warning in the man’s voice. The traveler hesitated a moment. The click of a trigger quickened his discretion.
“I am on my way from Muletown to Las Plumas, but I lost the road this afternoon and I’ve no idea where I am now. As soon as I saw your camp-fire I came straight for it, for my horse needs water mighty bad.”
There was a moment of silence. The moon was well above the mountains, and in its brightening light the form of the traveler stood out in ridiculous silhouette, his hands held high above his head. He could see plainly the figure of the man and the gun leveled at his breast.