"So you have turned highwayman, have you?" said Frank, without moving. "Do you find it a more pleasant and profitable business than herding cattle?"
"Are you going to get off that horse?" asked the robber, impatiently.
"What's the use? You will not find a red cent in my pockets."
"I suppose not; but if I take you with me, I'll soon find out how many yellow boys your uncle carries in his pockets."
"If you take me with you!" repeated Frank. "What do you mean?"
"I mean just this: I shall find it exceedingly lonesome living here in the mountains by myself, and I don't know of any one in the world I had rather have for a companion than yourself."
"Humph!" exclaimed Frank; "that's a nice idea. I won't go."
"Of course," continued the Ranchero, not heeding the interruption, "when you fail to make your appearance at home for three or four days, your uncle will think he has seen the last of you. He will believe that you have been clawed up by grizzlies, or that you have tumbled into some of these gullies. He will raise a hue and cry, search high and low for you, offer rewards, and all that; and, while the fuss is going on, and people are wondering what in the world could have become of you, you will be safe and sound, and living like a gentleman, with me, on the fat of the land."
"But, Pierre," said Frank, now beginning to be really frightened, "I don't want to live with you on the fat of the land, and I won't do it. Let go that bridle."