box. Devil take it, my overcoat won't cover that leg."

Then on him also fell, as it seemed, the approaching shadow of the grey
man and he looked up with something of a start into the keen eyes of
Drew.

"Son," said the big man, "you look sort of familiar to me. I'm asking
your pardon, but who was your mother?"

The eyes of young Woodbury narrowed and the two stood considering each
other gravely for a long moment.

"I never saw her," he said at last, and then turned with a frown to work
his way through the crowd and back to his box.

The tall man hesitated a moment and then started in pursuit, but the mob
intervened. He turned back to Werther.

"Did you get his name?" he asked.

"Fine bit of riding he showed, eh?" cried the little man, "and turned
down my thousand as cool as you please. I tell you, Drew, there's some
flint in the Easterners after all!"

"Damn the Easterners. What's his name?"

"Woodbury. Anthony Woodbury."

"Woodbury?"