“Who’s that?” he demanded.
“Me!” answered the herdsman.
“O,” said the cook, recognising the voice. “Well, go in and get your supper. It is all ready.”
“I’ll go as soon as I see these visitors off.”
“You’ll go now or you won’t get it at all,” exclaimed the cook. “I shan’t keep it waiting for you. I want to get through in that kitchen some time to-night.”
The herdsman muttered something under his breath, passed the bridle of the horse he was holding up to Ned and went into the kitchen. The Mexican watched him until he disappeared, and then, with another suspicious glance around, came up to Ned.
“I know’ where that horse is,” said he, in a low tone.
“What horse?” Ned almost gasped.
“The one that was stolen.”
“I—I don’t know what you mean,” stammered Ned.