midday
While he stuffed a clay pipe full of tobacco he laid the volume across his knees . Every movement was as deliberate as the flow of the deep stream near by . When he had stoked up his pipe he leaned back and opened the book . The smoke from his pipe kept off what few mosquitoes were abroad in the scorching heat of midday . A casual glance would at once have differentiated him from a native , held him guiltless of any trace of native blood . His age might have been anywhere between forty and fifty . His hair , now plentifully shot with gray , had been a light , wavy brown .