smooth-shaven, the hair clipped short, the flesh ashen-gray, the lips a
mere straight slit, yielding a merciless expression; but the eyes,
surveying me coldly, were the noticeable feature. They looked to be
black, not large, but deep set, and with a most peculiar gleam, almost
that of insanity, in their intense stare. Even as he lounged back amid
the chair cushions I could see that he was tall, and a bit angular, his
hand, holding a cigar, evidencing unusual strength. He must have
stared at me a full minute, much as a jockey would examine a horse,
before he resumed smoking.

"He will do very well, Neale," he decided, with a glance across at the
other. "Possibly a trifle young."

"He has roughed it," returned the other reassuringly, "and that means
more than years."

The first man laughed rather unpleasantly, and emptied his glass.

"So I have discovered. Have a cigar, or a drink, Craig?"

"I will smoke."

He passed me the box, watching me while I lighted the perfecto, Neale
crossing to the divan.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-four."

"I thought about that. What part of the country do you hail from?" and