“Who are you?” he demanded, surveying his visitor with a glance half curious, half suspicious.
“I am a stranger—just arrived,” answered Wentworth in a conciliatory tone, for he did not feel the most absolute confidence in this man with his brigandish look.
“Ha, a tenderfoot!”
“Well, I don’t know about that. My feet will be tender, though, if I tramp round here much longer.”
“Humph! Where might you be from?”
“From Chicago.”
“And what brings you here?”
Bradley Wentworth did not quite like the man’s intrusive curiosity, but he thought it policy not to betray his feeling.
“I came to see a friend—a sick friend,” he answered, after a pause.
“The old man that lives a mile east of here? He has a son.”