The four men waiting his coming remained motionless, intently watchful of one another.

As the slowly moving Swede finally approached, Hayes ventured to remove his eyes from Winston just long enough to scan swiftly the mournful countenance, that single glance revealing to him the character of the man.

The latter gazed uneasily from one face to another, his mild blue eyes picturing distress, his fingers pulling aimlessly at his moustache.
"Ay ban yere by you fellers," he confessed sorrowfully, unable to determine which person it was that wanted him.
"So I see," admitted the sheriff laconically.

"Are you Nels Swanson ?" The fellow swallowed something in his throat that seemed to choke him.
This question sounded familiar; it brought back in a rush a recollection of his late controversy with Mr.O'Brien.

His face flushed, his eyes hardening.
"Ay ban Nels Swanson!" he exploded, beating the air with clenched fist.
"Ay ban Lutheran! Ay ban shovel-man by Meester Burke.