What he saw was a slender fellow, who stood with his head somewhat lowered while his eyes peered down from under contracted brows, as though the light were hurting them.

His feet were braced apart and his hands dropped lightly on his hips--the very picture of a man ready to spring into action.
Under the great brush of his moustache, Lawlor set his teeth, but he was instantly at ease; for if the sight of the stranger shook him to the very centre, the other was even more obviously shocked by what he saw.
The hands dropped limp from his hips and dangled idly at his sides; his body straightened almost with a jerk, as though he had been struck violently, and now, instead of that searching look, he was blinking down at his host.

Lawlor rose and extended a broad hand and an even broader smile; he was proud of the strength which had suddenly returned to his legs.
"H'ware ye, stranger?
Sure glad to see you." The other accepted the proffered hand automatically, like one moving in a dream.
"Are you Drew ?" "Sure am." "William Drew ?" He still held the hand as if he were fearful of the vision escaping without that sensible bondage.
"William Drew is right.

Sit down.

Make yourself to home." "Thanks!" breathed the other and as if that breath expelled with it all his strength he slumped into a chair and sat with a fascinated eye glued to his host.
Lawlor had time to mark now the signs of long and severe travelling which the other bore, streaks of mud that disfigured him from heel to shoulder; and his face was somewhat drawn like a man who has gone to work fasting.
"William Drew!" he repeated, more to himself than to Lawlor, and the latter formed a silent prayer of gratitude that he was _not_ William Drew.
"I'm forgetting myself," went on the tenderfoot, with a ghost of a smile.