He noted that the stranger was a fine figure of a man, tall and slim, with clear dark eyes and tanned face, and he saw, too, that he wore a heavy Webley on his right hip. The newcomer continued to smile as Mills scanned him over, and waited for the trader to speak first.
"Hullo!" said Mills at length.
"'Ullo!" replied the stranger, smiling still. He had a capital smile, and Mills was captivated into smiling in sympathy.
"Who may you be?" he asked agreeably; "didn't expect to meet no white men about here. Where's your boys?"
The tall man waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the coast, as though to imply that he had carriers somewhere in that part of the world.
"Yais," he said pleasantly. "An' you are Jone Mills, eh?"
"That's me," said Mills promptly, lowering the butt of his gun to the ground and resting both hands on the muzzle. The stranger started slightly, but did not cease to smile.
"I don't seem to know you," pondered Mills. "I can't fix you at all."
"Ah, but you will. Le' me see. Was it Beira, eh?"
Mills shook his head decidedly. "I never was in Beira," he said.