"Is he employed here?" was the next query.
"He runs the Camptonville stage, and there ain't a better driver in the hull West."
"Strange!" said the doctor, evidently not satisfied with the intelligence. "Has he been here long?" he added.
"It must be all of five years since Joe put in an appearance on this line," returned the landlord.
"Five years," repeated the doctor dreamily. He looked as though some painful reminiscence had been recalled to him.
"I'd like to know what you've found to interest you in that fellow," said Fulton, who now stood at his friend's elbow. "You could scarcely eat for watching him, and I failed to make you listen when I spoke to you."
"It is a resemblance to a person whom I once knew well—nothing more—queer, is it not, with what persistency a familiar face will sometimes haunt us?" returned the doctor, assuming an off-hand air.
"This fellow's double must surely have robbed you—for you looked ready to spring upon him just now when he went out," said Fulton, jocosely.
"Robbed me?" repeated the doctor; "ah, yes—he did, indeed—but you shall hear about it another time." And they seated themselves at the card table.
When Joe closed the door behind him, he moved slowly away. His eyes were fixed on the ground; he was absorbed in thought. Suddenly his attention was arrested by Mary Jane, who awaited him, as she had frequently done, in the doorway of a rickety, long-disused barn. "I say, Joe!—hist!" she exclaimed, on seeing that he was about to pass without observing her. "Look wot I've fetched yer;" and she held up a couple of well-polished apples.