Indeed he did him the unusual honor of a personally conducted
inspection. Gabilonda was a fat little man, with a soft, purring
voice and a pompous manner. He gushed with the courteous
volubility of his nation, explaining with great gusto this and
that detail of the work. Bucky gave him outwardly a deferent ear,
but his alert mind and eyes were scanning the prisoners they saw.
The ranger was trying to find in one of these scowling, defiant
faces some resemblance to the picture his mind had made of
Henderson.
But Bucky looked in vain. If the man he wanted was among these he
had changed beyond recognition. In the end he was forced to ask
Gabilonda plainly if he would not take him to see David
Henderson, as he knew a man in Arizona who was an old friend of
his, and he would like to be able to tell him that he had seen
his friend.
Henderson was breaking stone when O'Connor got his first glimpse
of him. He continued to swing his hammer listlessly, without
looking up, when the door opened to let in the warden and his
guests. But something in the ranger's steady gaze drew his eyes.
They were dull eyes, and sullen, but when he saw that Bucky was
an American, the fire of intelligence flashed into them.
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