"Sure. There's a grave in front of it."

"A grave? Whose?"

"Dunno."

"Well, it doesn't worry me. I'll drop over the hill and see Drew."

"Maybe you'd better wait. You'll be passin' him on the road, like as
not."

"How's that?"

"He comes over here on Tuesdays once a month; to-morrow he's about due."

"Good. In the meantime I can camp over there by that stream, eh?"

"Don't know of nobody who'd stop you."

"By the way, what brings Drew over here every month?"

"Never asked him. I was brung up not to ask questions."

The stranger accepted this subtle rebuke with such an open, infectious
laugh that the shepherd smiled in the very act of spitting at the stone,
with the result that he missed it by whole inches.

"I'll answer some of the questions you haven't asked, then. My name is
Anthony Bard and I'm out here seeing the mountains and having a bully
time in general with my rod and gun."