"Ain't been long around here, eh?"
"No."
"William Drew, he owns that house."
"William Drew?" repeated the rider, as though imprinting the word on his
memory. "Is he home?"
"Maybe."
"I'll ride over and ask him if he can put me up."
"Wait a minute. He may be home, but he lives on the other side of the
range."
"Very far from here?"
"Apiece."
"How'll I know him when I see him?"
"Big feller--grey--broad shoulders."
"Ah!" murmured the other, and smiled as though the picture pleased him.
"I'll hunt him up and ask him if I can camp out in this house of his for
a while."
"Well, that's your party."
"Don't you think he'd let me?"
"Maybe; but the house ain't lucky."
"That so?"
"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.
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