"What do you mean, sir?
Are you sure?
When ?" "I ought to be sure; I buried him just this side the Cimmaron Crossing out on the Santa Fe trail." "But do you know it was General Waite ?" the man's insistent tone full of doubt.
"I have no question about it," returned Keith, conclusively.

"The man was Waite's size and general appearance, with gray beard, similar to the one I remember he wore during the war.

He had been scalped, and his face beaten beyond recognition, but papers in his pockets were sufficient to prove his identity.

Besides, he and his companion--a young fellow named Sibley--were known to have pulled out two days before from Carson City." "When was this ?" "Ten days ago." Fairbain's lips smiled, the ruddy coloring sweeping back into his cheeks.
"Damn me, Keith, you came near giving me a shock," he said, jerkily.
"Shouldn't be so careless--not sure my heart's just right--tendency to apoplexy, too--got to be guarded against.

Now, let me tell you something--maybe you buried some poor devil out at Cimmaron Crossing--but it wasn't Willis Waite.