The natural dead whiteness of his face was accentuated by his black mustache, which turned up at the ends like that of a duelist.

He was dressed in black broadcloth, the long coat buttoned closely about his body, but revealing a full and ruffled shirt bosom as white as snow.

His face expressed no emotion, but the mountaineer cursed violently.
"I can read the story at once," said the editor, shrugging his shoulders.

"I know the mountaineer.

He's Bill Skelly, a rough man, prone to reach for the trigger, especially when he's full of bad whiskey as he is now, and the other, Arthur Travers, is no stranger to you.
Skelly is for the abolition of slavery.