"The Boer man say he don't know nothing about the hoss and gun," was the interpreter's reply.
"They don't, eh?" exclaimed Oscar. "That's all I want to know. If they won't help me get my property back I'll take it without help."
As Oscar said this he put his horse in motion, intending to ride to McCann's place of concealment, and compel him to surrender his ill-gotten gains. As he was about to pass through the line a Boer attempted to seize his horse by the bridle, but that was an unfortunate move for him.
Drawing sharply in upon the curb-bit, Oscar struck his horse a smart blow with the whip that was tied to his wrist; whereupon the animal shot forward like an arrow from a bow, and striking the Boer full in the breast, sent him flying through the air as if he had been thrown from a catapult.
Without waiting to see what had become of him, or to learn what he was going to do about it when he recovered his feet, Oscar rode around the nearest wagon, and found himself face to face with his runaway cook.
There was his missing horse, saddled and bridled, and at his head stood McCann, with the stolen rifle in his hand and his left arm passed through Little Gray's bridle-rein. The man's face was as white as a sheet, and he was trembling all over; but still he was trying to keep up some show of courage.
"Come no nearer," said he in a tone which he intended should strike terror to the boy's heart. "If you don't go away, and let me alone, I'll shoot you, so help me!"
Oscar made no reply. Swinging himself from his saddle with great coolness and deliberation, he approached the trembling culprit with a steady step, holding his cocked rifle in such a position that the muzzle of it pointed straight at McCann's breast.
"Keep that shooting-iron directed toward the clouds," said he sternly; and, almost involuntarily, McCann obeyed. "Now let go of it," he added when he had come near enough to place his hand upon the weapon.