With him was a stranger.

When the boat was at rest Runnion sauntered down the gang-plank and up to the Lieutenant, who stood above the landing-place, and who noted that the scar, close up against his hat-band, was scarce healed.

He accosted the officer with an insolent assurance.
"Well, I'm back again, you see, and I'm back to stay." "Very well, Runnion; did you bring an outfit with you ?" The young man addressed him civilly, although he felt that the fellow's presence was a menace and would lead to trouble.
"Yes, and I'm pretty fat besides." He shook a well-laden gold-sack at the officer.

"I reckon I can rustle thirteen dollars a month most anywhere, if I'm left alone." "What do you want in this place, anyhow ?" demanded Burrell, curiously.
"None of your damned business," the man answered, grinning.
"Be sure it isn't," retorted the Lieutenant, "because it would please me right down to the ground if it were.

I'd like to get you." "I'm glad we understand each other," Runnion said, and turned to oversee the unloading of his freight, falling into conversation with the stranger, who had been surveying the town without leaving the boat.
Evidently this man had a voice in Runnion's affairs, for he not only gave him instructions, but bossed the crew who handled his merchandise, and Meade Burrell concluded that he must be some incoming tenderfoot who had grub-staked the desperado to prospect in the hills back of Flambeau.