"'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.

"Not Beira?" queried the stranger. "Oh, but surelee. No? Well,
Mandega's, per'aps?"

"Mandega's? Yes, I was there for a bit. I had a block of claims on
the ditch, next to old Jimmy Ryan's."