“Good-evening, stranger!” exclaimed a voice, which the boy knew belonged to the owner of the stolen horse. “Is this Mr. Gilbert’s rancho?”
“Yes, sir,” was the reply. “Get down and walk in.”
“Thank you; we can’t stop. We would be obliged if you would put us on the road to Ackerman’s.”
“I am afraid I can’t direct you so that you can find your way there in the dark. There are a good many trails branching off the main road. Better come in and wait until morning.”
“We can’t do it. We are in a great hurry.”
“Then wait until the moon rises, and I will send a man to show you the way. Have you ridden far to-day?”
“We have just come from Dickerman’s.”
“Then you and your nags need food and rest. Here, Tom! take these horses.”
George heard the men dismount on the porch, and presently heavy steps sounded in the hall. He caught the words “Ackerman’s,” “regular nest of horse-thieves,” “get my hands on that rascally boy who sent us so far out of our course,” and then the closing of a door shut out the voices. After a few minutes’ silence, during which George could plainly hear the beating of his own heart, footsteps once more sounded in the hall, the door was unlocked and Mr. Gilbert came in. He shook his finger warningly at George, and, without saying a word, seized his haversack and hurried out again. In about five minutes he came back, and George could see that there was something in the haversack.
“You’ll have to eat your supper as you go along,” said Mr. Gilbert, in a cautious whisper. “I have tried to reason with them but it is of no use. Somebody has told them that Ned has been shooting cattle, and they declare that they are going to make an example of him.”