I underwent the fierce scrutiny of an instant, then the taper was thrown away half consumed.
"Where did you learn it ?" the stranger asked in an altered voice.
"I don't remember," I replied; "it is a common enough deep-sea chantey." A heavy pause fell.

Finally the stranger sighed.
"Quite like," he said; "I never heard but one man sing it." "Who in hell are you ?" someone demanded out of the darkness.
Before replying, the newcomer lit a third match, searching for a place to sit down.

As he bent forward, his strong, harsh face once more came clearly into view.
"He's Colorado Rogers," the Cattleman answered for him; "I know him." "Well," insisted the first voice, "what in hell does Colorado Rogers mean by bustin' in on our song fiesta that way ?" "Tell them, Rogers," advised the Cattleman, "tell them--just as you told it down on the Gila ten years ago next month." "What ?" inquired Rogers.

"Who are you ?" "You don't know me," replied the Cattleman, "but I was with Buck Johnson's outfit then.

Give us the yarn." "Well," agreed Rogers, "pass over the 'makings' and I will." He rolled and lit a cigarette, while I revelled in the memory of his rich, great voice.