Then the man on the plank above turned round, and Deringham felt inclined to gasp as he stood face to face with the new heir to Carnaby.  The man was grimed with dust and ashes.  His blue shirt rolled back to the shoulders left uncovered arms that were corded like a smith’s, and was rent at the neck so that Deringham could see the finely-arched chest.  The overalls, tight-belted round the waist, set off the solidity of his shoulders and the leanness of the flank, while with the first glance at his face Deringham recognized the teamster who had driven them through the bush.

He stood poised on the few inches of springy redwood looking down upon him with a grimly humorous twinkle in his eyes, but through the smears of perspiration and the charcoal grime Deringham now recognized the expression of quiet forcefulness and the directness of gaze which was his birthright.

“Mr. Henry Alton?” he said.

“Yes,” said the other quietly.

There was a moment’s embarrassing silence, for Alton said nothing further, and Deringham gazed at the man he had journeyed three thousand miles to see.

“I should like a little talk with you,” he said presently.

“Can’t oblige you,” said the other.  “I couldn’t spare more than a minute now for a railroad director.  You can tell me anything you want after supper.”

Deringham lost a little of his usual serenity.  “My business is of some importance,” he said.

Alton smiled grimly.  “I can’t help that.  So is mine,” said he.  “A lawyer, by the stamp of you.  Well, you’re trailing the wrong man, because I don’t owe anybody money.  We’ll put you up to-night, and you can look for him to-morrow.”

“I have come from Carnaby, England,” said Deringham, watching the effect upon the man.  “You are, I presume the grandson of its late owner.”

This shot got home, but the effect was not altogether what Deringham had anticipated, for Alton’s big hands tightened on the axe and his face grew very stern.  “I’m not proud of the connection, anyway,” he said.  “Alton of Somasco is good enough for me.”

“But,” said Deringham quietly, “I have come to talk things over with you.  Tristan Alton left you Carnaby.”

Alton straightened himself a little and flung out an arm, while Deringham recognized the Alton pride as with a sweeping gesture he pointed to wide lake, forest-shrouded hillside, and the clearing in the valley.

“He turned out my father because he knew his mind, and now when there is no one else leaves me the played-out property.  Thank God, I don’t want it, while that’s all mine,” he said.  “What brings you here to talk of Carnaby?”

Deringham smiled a little.  “The executor sent me, and I have come a long way,” said he.  “When I tell you that I am Ralph Deringham you should know me.”

Alton nodded gravely.  “Then you can tell me all about it after supper, and we’ll have plenty time for talking, because you’ll stay a while with me,” he said.  “If you’ll go back to the house you’ll find some cigars that might please you in the bureau.  Sorry I can’t come with you, but I’m busy.  Are you ready, Tom?”