After leaving the camp in which the wolfer had passed the night, the trail wound through a deep gorge that led from one valley to the other.
It was about ten miles across here, and the eager mule walked so much faster than the pony could with his heavy burden that if he had had a mile further to go he would have brought the thief and his pursuer together before the camp was reached.
He nearly overtook Lish as it was, for he was not more than ten minutes behind him.
Lish the Wolfer foiled.
Almost before Oscar knew it he found himself riding out of the gorge into a valley, and there, a little to his left and in plain view of him, was a smouldering fire, and beside it stood Big Thompson’s pony, with his pack still on his back.
Under the lean-to, in front of which the miserable fire was smoking, was a prostrate figure, dressed in a suit of clothes that Oscar instantly recognized, and over him stood Lish the Wolfer, holding a heavy switch in his hand.
Both were talking loudly, one commanding and threatening, while the other begged and protested. The next moment the wolfer began a fierce attack upon the prostrate figure, who struggled feebly, and cried in vain for mercy.
All this passed in half a minute’s time. Oscar, astonished and alarmed by his unexpected proximity to the wolfer’s camp, tried to stop the mule; but the animal, which up to this moment had been so docile and obedient, disregarded his commands, uttered a loud bray, and started on a full gallop for the camp. He had seen his companion, and a curb-bit would not have kept him from hastening to join him.
But Oscar made no further effort to check him; he did not think of it. All idea of concealment and strategy was gone now. His brother was being severely beaten before his eyes; and, worse than that, he was taking the punishment without making any determined effort at resistance. This proved that there was something the matter with him, and that he needed help. Fortunately for Tom, it was close at hand.