Just then the two friends heard a steady tramp behind, as if another horseman were on their track.
Peter Brush looked round, and his curiosity seemed to be excited.
“Tom,” said he, “look round. There’s a queer-lookin’ critter on our track.”
CHAPTER XXX.
THE MAN WITHOUT A SCALP.
THIS WAS what Tom saw on looking behind him:
A very tall man, bestriding a raw-boned horse, who looked as if, like Dr. Tanner, he had just emerged from a forty days’ fast.
The man was very nearly as thin as the horse, with a long face, set off, but scarcely adorned, by a rough, red beard. He was attired in a suit of rusty black, and looked not unlike a wandering missionary.
“He’s tryin’ to catch up with us, Tom,” said Mr. Brush. “Suppose we halt and give him a better show.”
Tom had no objections. In their lonely journey it was rather agreeable to meet a new acquaintance, however unprepossessing he might appear.