An old school-fellow he had
been long ago in their distant city home, who chanced to be in the
mountains on a flying trip--no belated summer sojourner, no
pleasure-seeker, but concerned with business, and business of the
grimmest monitions. A brisk, breezy presence he had, his cheeks tingling
red from the burning of the wind and sun and the speed of his ride. He
was tall and active, thirty-five years of age perhaps, with a singularly
keen eye and an air intimating much decision of character, of which he
stood in need for he was a deputy collector of the revenue service, and
in the midst of a dangerous moonshining raid his horse had gone dead
lame.
"I hardly expected to find you still here at this season," he said to
Briscoe, congratulating himself, "but I took the chances. You must lend
me a horse."
Briscoe's instincts of hospitality were paramount, and he declared that
he would not allow the new-comer to depart so summarily. He must stay and
dine; he must stay the night; he must join the hunt that was planned for
to-morrow--a first-rate gun was at his disposal.
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