"Beg pardon, strangers," spoke up Enos, "but what might you be after havin' in that bag?"
The slender man turned a pair of blazing orbs on him.
"What business is that of yours?" he snapped out, his queer eyes appearing to emit sparks of malignant fury.
Enos hastened to extend the olive branch.
"Oh, no harm, no harm," he hurriedly exclaimed. "I thought thet you two might be sellin' suthin' the wife 'ud have a use fer, thet's all. Wanted to give you a chancet ter drive a trade."
"I reckon your wife wouldn't care much for what's in this bag," snarled the old man viciously; "and let me give you a bit of advice, my friend: Don't ask questions and you'll be told no lies."
So saying, the two oddly assorted strangers made off down the street, the tall one still carrying the black bag with precise care.
Enos reëntered his hotel, wagging his head sententiously.
"Suthin' queer about them two fellers," he muttered to himself; "ain't sellin' nuthin' an' they don't look as if they was on a pleasure trip. Wa'al, it's none of my business, but if Lem makes a dicker with 'em he'll hev ter come across to me with a commission, an' that's all I care about."
Lem Higgins was sitting on the wharf, swinging his legs and regarding with interest an imminent fight between two dogs of the "yaller" variety, when the old man and his tall companion came up.