The occupant of the blanketed saddle was a medium-sized man, about forty years of age. His hair, and he had an ocean of it, was an iron-gray, and shone like silver. The face was smooth, somewhat cadaverous, but healthy; and the brownish eyes, nestling between long, dark lashes, were indicative alike of gentleness and determination. He wore the often-described habiliments of the Western hunter, and in addition to the long-barreled rifle that lay across the pommel of his saddle, ed in its position by a great hand, the only ill-proportioned member of the body, a brace of Colt’s large revolvers protruded from his buck-skin belt.

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