He wore old overalls, and the soil on his boots suggested that he had been engaged in fall plowing.
As Blake entered, Clarke looked up and the light fell on his face.

It was deeply lined and of a curious dead color, but, while, it bore a sensual stamp and something in it hinted at cruelty, it was, Blake felt, the face of a clever and determined man.
"Ah!" said Clarke.

"You have ridden over for a talk.

Glad to see you.
Have a cigar." Blake took one and explained his errand.

Clarke seemed to consider; then he took out a small hand-drawn map and passed it to his visitor.
"I won't ask why you are going north, as I dare say it's a secret.
However, though it's too valuable for me to lend it to you, this will show you your way through the timber belt." He cleared one end of the desk.