Tramps of the Range by W.C. Tuttle

The first faint flush of dawn was creeping over the Mission River hills, as the Overland train drew to a stop at the little town of Moon Flats. It was only a moment's pause, but in that length of time a man had dropped off the rods of the baggage-car, crept between the trucks and walked slowly down the main street.

The town was deserted at this time in the morning, and the man seemed to study the dimly outlined, false-fronted buildings as if he had been there before.