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Edmonstone listened, and the measured beat of hoofs grew upon his ear; another moment and a horseman’s back was looming through the dusk very broad and round, with only the crown of a wideawake showing above the shoulders. As the wagon drew abreast his horse was wheeled to one side, and a hearty voice hailed the hawkers:

“Got a match, mateys? I’ve used my last, and I’m just weakening for a smoke.”

“Here’s my box,” said Dick, pulling up. “Take as many as you like.”

And he dropped his match-box into a great fat hand with a wrist like a ship’s cable, and strong stumpy fingers: it was not returned until a loaded pipe was satisfactorily alight; and as the tobacco glowed in the bowl the man’s face glowed in company. It was huge like himself, and bearded to the eyes, which were singularly small and bright, and set very close together.

“I don’t like that face,” said Dick when the fellow had thanked him with redoubled heartiness, and ridden on.

“It looked good-natured.”

“It was and it wasn’t. I don’t want to see it again; but I shall know it if ever I do. I had as good a look at him as he had at us.”