“Hallo, in there!” shouted Gus, hardly believing that he could make himself heard above the din raised by the angry pack which surrounded him. “Anybody at home?”
“Get out, ye brutes!” roared a voice from the inside. “Alight an’ hitch, strangers.”
The dogs retreated under the porch, where they remained growling savagely, and now and then giving utterance to an impatient bark, and presently the owner of the voice appeared in the open door. In dress and appearance he was in perfect keeping with his surroundings, which, when the boys c to look at them, they found to be of the most primitive character. The house was a rambling old structure, built of logs and rough, unpainted boards. There were wide gaps in the shingles on the roof, and the rickety porch groaned and creaked as the man stepped upon it. The few outbuildings that could be seen were in the same dilapidated condition. The house was undoubtedly the home of a squatter, who made his living by pasturing cattle on government land.
“Alight an’ hitch, strangers,” repeated the man. “You’re welcome to sich as we’ve got, an’ that ain’t none of the best, I can tell you. You see we went back into the country to git shet of the raiders an’ we’ve jest come hum to-day.”
“Did you lose any of your cattle?” asked Gus, and after he had asked the question, he was surprised at himself for doing it. Probably the man owned two or three cows, which supplied his family with milk, and the raiders would not go far out of their way to pick up such a herd as that.
“Nary hoof,” replied the squatter, with a triumphant air. “I tuk my three thousand head safe off an’ brung ‘em all back agin!”
Gus was astonished. The man was rich. He was worth at least sixty thousand dollars (Gus had heard that beef cattle were worth twenty dollars a piece) and yet he lived in a hovel at which a respectable dog would turn up his nose. It looked so untidy and altogether forbidding that Gus did not want to go into it; but knowing that he would find plenty to eat in there, and believing that he could find a shelter somewhere under the leaky roof, he dismounted, and the squatter came down the steps and took charge of his horse.
“Go right in, strangers,” said he. “The ole woman’s in thar, an’ I reckon supper’s ‘most ready.”
Gus went in, but Ned, who felt very lonely and down-hearted, seated himself on the porch and brooded over his troubles. The former found that the living-room, which was the one he entered, was as uninviting as the outside of the house. The floor was littered with various odds and ends, including saddles, bridles, horse-blankets and old boots, and the holes in the walls were covered with hides which were hung up over them to keep out the wind and rain. One side of the room was occupied by an immense fire-place, in front of which stood the squatter’s wife, who was busy with her preparations for supper. She looked up when the boy entered, waved a case-knife toward an old chest which stood beside the door, and requested him to sit down; and that was the only time Gus heard her speak while he remained at the rancho.
The boys fared a great deal better than they expected. The supper was abundant and well cooked, but the dishes on which it was served up might have been a little cleaner. The squatter was very sociable in his way, and after entertaining the young travellers with many stories of exciting and amusing adventure drawn from his own experience, he asked them where they came from and where they were going.