He was a person whom the young hunter would not have cared to meet in any lonely spot.
With a muttered exclamation of anger, the man jerked his horse part way out of the path, and Oscar made haste to ride on and leave him out of sight.
CHAPTER VII.
ANOTHER UNEXPECTED MEETING.
When two or three bends in the path had shut the stranger out from view, Oscar drew a long breath of relief and began a mental description of him.
He was fully as tall as Big Thompson, as thin as a rail, and blessed with a most sneaking, hangdog cast of countenance. He was clad in a blue flannel shirt, a soldier’s overcoat, and a pair of buckskin trousers, all of which had grown dingy with age and hard usage.
On his head he wore a brimless slouch hat, and on his feet a pair of ancient moccasins, and between the moccasins and the tattered bottom of his trousers—which were much too short for him—could be seen an ankle which was the color of sole-leather. His hands and the very small portion of his face that could be seen over a mass of grizzly whiskers, were of the same hue.
This uncouth object sat on his saddle—a piece of sheepskin—with his back rounded almost into a half circle, and his long neck stretching forward over his pony’s ears.
He did not look like a very dangerous character, but still there was something about him which made Oscar believe that he was a man to be feared.
While the young hunter was busy with his mental photograph of the stranger, his pony was walking rapidly down the path which now emerged from the sage-brush and entered the mouth of one of the ravines.
Oscar looked into its gloomy depths and drew in his reins, although he did not draw them tightly enough to check the advance of his pony.