As they turned away a slow, cool voice addressed them from behind the
stove.
"Hullo, bub!" it drawled.
Fox's face lighted and he extended both hands.
"Well, Tally!" he cried. "You old snoozer!"
The man was upward of sixty years of age, but straight and active. His
features were tanned a deep mahogany, and carved by the years and
exposure into lines of capability and good humour. In contrast to this
brown his sweeping white moustache and bushy eyebrows, blenched flaxen
by the sun, showed strongly. His little blue eyes twinkled, and fine
wrinkles at their corners helped the twinkles. His long figure was so
heavily clothed as to be concealed from any surmise, except that it was
gaunt and wiry. Hands gnarled, twisted, veined, brown, seemed less like
flesh than like some skilful Japanese carving. On his head he wore a
visored cap with an extraordinary high crown; on his back a rather dingy
coat cut from a Mackinaw blanket; on his legs trousers that had been
"stagged" off just below the knees, heavy German socks, and shoes nailed
with sharp spikes at least three-quarters of an inch in length.
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