But the young man was not called on to solve the dreadful question. While he hesitated there was a loud shout from some distance to his right, and looking up the rocks he saw to his great joy Ike Watson, the hunter, sitting astride of his horse, rifle in hand.
"Wall, wall!" shouted the old man. "And what's the row, Allen, I want to know?"
"Horse thieves, Ike! Save me!" was the quick reply. "There are three of them after me!"
"Saul Mangle, as I'm a nateral born sinner, and Darry Nodley and Jeff Jones! Wall! wall! wall! Turn about, before it is too late, ye sarpints!"
The loud cry from Ike Watson caused the gang of horse thieves to come to a sudden halt. Every one of them knew old Ike Watson only too well—knew him for a man of quaint humor, but with a sense of justice that no one dared to question.
"Hang the measly luck!" muttered Saul Mangle. "There's Ike Watson!"
"Then the jig's up for the present, and we had better vamoose!" returned Nodley.
"Clar out, do ye hear me?" yelled Ike Watson to the crowd of three. "Don't wait for me to git riled up."
"Come on!" whispered Saul Mangle, with a scowl, and like magic the trio of villains turned about and disappeared down a side trail, leaving poor exhausted Allen safe in friendly hands at last.
"By the grasshoppers of Kansas, but ye look fagged out, Allen!" exclaimed old Ike Watson as he sprang down and caught Allen in his arms. "What's the matter with ye, boy?"