Over the Pass

by Frederick Palmer

"Rooms over the store and grub at Mrs. Smith's—none better!"

"That will do."

As they rode into town more than one passer-by called out a ringing "Hello, Jack!" or, "Back, eh, Jack? Hurrah for you!" and then uttered an exclamation of disillusion when Prather turned his head.

"The others see it, too," said Bill.

"They seem to. Who is this double of mine?"

"Jack Wingfield."

"Jack Wingfield? It seems that our first names are the same, too. He lives here, I take it."

"Yes. But he's away now."

"Well, when he comes back"—with a pause of slight irritation—"there will be no difficulty in telling us apart."

He put his finger to a triangular patch of mole on his cheek. His irritation passed and a sense of appreciative amusement at the distinction took its place.