As the guide ceased speaking, an answering whoop, uttered in a stentorian voice, came from the inside; and presently the blanket was raised and the owner of the voice appeared in the doorway.
He was a tall, brawny man, roughly dressed, but still rather neater in appearance than the other dwellers in dug-outs whom Oscar had seen along the trail.
His hair and whiskers looked as though they were combed occasionally, and it was plain that he had sometimes washed his face, for when he came to the door he brought with him a towel, which he was using vigorously.
If he recognized an old acquaintance in the guide, there was nothing in his actions to indicate the fact. Indeed, he did not appear to see him. His gaze was fixed upon Oscar, at whom he stared with every indication of astonishment. He looked very hard at him for a moment; and, uttering an exclamation under his breath, stepped back into his house, dropping the blanket to its place.
Before the boy—who was somewhat surprised at these actions—could look toward his guide for an explanation, the man again appeared at the door, and this time he carried something besides a towel in his hands. It was a double-barrel shot-gun.
Oscar heard the hammers click as they were drawn back, and a moment later the weapon was looking him squarely in the face, while the ranchman’s eye was glancing along the clean brown tubes, and his finger was resting on one of the triggers.
“Climb down, pard,” said he in savage tones. “I have been waiting for you.”
CHAPTER XIX.
THE STOLEN MULE.
To say that Oscar was astonished at the ranchman’s words and actions would but feebly express his feelings.
He was utterly confounded; and, instead of obeying the order to “climb down,” he looked toward his guide, whose blank expression of countenance showed that he understood the matter no better than his employer did.