I was heading for the Double Cross, but I don't know just--" "We're eight miles, straight across, from there; ten, the way we would have to go to get there.

There are other washouts in this country--which it is unwise to attempt jumping, Mr.--" "Campbell," Ford supplied shortly.
"I beg your pardon?
You mumbled--" "Campbell!" Ford was tempted to shout it but contented himself with a tart distinctness.

A late, untoward incident had made him somewhat touchy over his name, and he had not mumbled.
"Oh.

Did you skin your face and blacken your eye, Mr.Campbell, when you tried to jump that washout ?" "No." Ford did not offer any explanation.

He remembered the scars of battle which were still plainly visible upon his countenance, and he turned red while he bent over the fore ankles of Rambler, trying to discover other sprains.