"He's just ahead, and as sure as I live the thief is Motoza!"
Before Fred, slightly at the rear, could gain sight of the Indian, Jack broke into a lope and called:
"Hold on there, Motoza! You have something that belongs to me."
The dusky vagrant was alone and walking at a moderate pace from the youth. Although he did not look around until hailed he must have known he was followed, but he stopped short and wheeled about with a wondering expression on his painted face.
There could be no mistake by Jack Dudley, for Motoza was carrying two Winchesters, one in either hand, and a glance enabled the youth to recognize his own property.
"Howdy, brother?" asked Motoza, with the old grin on his face.
Jack was too angry to be tactful. He continued his rapid strides, and as he drew near reached out his hand.
"Never mind how I do; give me my rifle."
But with the fingers of Jack almost on the weapon, Motoza shifted his hand backward, so that the gun was held behind his body. He did not stir, but continued grinning.
"What do you mean?" demanded Jack, his face flushed, and his anger greater than before; "didn't you hear me ask for my gun?"