To-day, as he slowly limped over the ties, his eyes were bright and dry under the solemn lids, and, though his heavy nostrils were unusually distended in the effort for regular breathing, the deeply puckered lips beneath them were set firmly.
He stopped and looked at the faces before him.

When he spoke his voice was gentle, and though the tremulousness of age harped on the vocal strings, it was rigidly controlled.

"Kin some kine gelmun," he asked, "please t'be so good ez t' show de ole main whuh de W'ite-Caips is done shoot Marse Hawkliss ?" "Here was where it happened, Uncle Zen," answered Wiley, leaning him forward.

"Here is the stain." Xenophon bent over the spot on the sand, making little odd noises in his throat.

Then he painfully resumed his former position.