J. Archibald McKackney
I had wandered so far into the strip of woodland that as I paused to mop my face, an opening in the trees showed me a green valley and a hillside of pasture beyond, bounded by low stone walls. A man was moving across the pasture, and so vivid a patch of color gleamed against his dark coat that I waited and watched him with an interested eye. As the distant figure drew nearer I became more puzzled and intent.
Just then the sinking sun shot a slanting dazzle across the pasture and the dash of vivid crimson on the wayfarer's chest gleamed like a sheet of flame.
"Good Heavens," I muttered. "It is the man's whiskers! Nothing so very rare about the pattern but that Titian red! I have tried to find that peculiar shade among the whiskers of three continents. I must have his portrait in color, even if I am compelled to kidnap him. God bless me, but his beard is priceless! Why, I have heard of only one other such specimen, and before I could locate
