"Right! Make it six, Simms, and see if the coroner and sheriff want an outing." Mr. Brewster's voice sounded interesting.
Just as the lawyer opened the door for the ladies to leave, a handsome young man of about eighteen came down the road. It was evident, in every way, that he was a "tenderfoot" newly arrived. Probably just came in on the noon local from Denver.
"I'm looking for Carew's Camp, sir. That cowboy over at the box-car said you might tell me how to reach it."
"Oh, that's the surveyin' crew for the government. Ah reckon you'll have quite a jaunt afore night to reach there. They're working about twenty mile from here—up on the Yellow Jacket Pass road," replied Simms, studying the surprised face closely.
"Ah saw Carew's driver stopping at Jake's when we drove by, Simms," said Mr. Brewster at this moment.
"If you-all can find Jake, that will be the way to arrive—take a reserved seat beside him,"' chuckled Simms.
The youth was shy before so many pretty girls, so he took off his cap to acknowledge the obligation, and would have backed away had not Simms asked a very strange question.
"Young man, you look exactly like an old friend I knew in these parts, some years back. So like, that I must ask you your name."
The stranger flushed and stammered: "I am Kenneth Evans, from New York."
Simms frowned when he heard the name and turned to Sam Brewster: "Did you ever see anything to beat that likeness to the man we were just talking about?"