“I hain’t purtended to anything yet,” was the reply. “If you want my pedigree, I reckon you’ll have to want. I came down here lookin’ for a brindle steer what strayed away from the herd an’ saw your light, likewise the light from that boat anchored out there in the river. But, still, if you don’t want me to butt in, I’ll be joggin’ along.”
“Wait a minute,” Case exclaimed, starting to climb the ridge, “do you say there’s a boat out there in the river?”
“Come up here and see for yourself; seein’ is believin’, as the cat said to the mouse.”
Case clambered to the top of the ridge and looked out upon the river. There were the dim lights of the Rambler, but the rest of the scene could not be discerned.
“The boat’s there, all right!” the boy said jubilantly, hopping up and down in his excitement. “The boys will soon be here now.”
Case looked into the stranger’s face with a question on his lips—a question he might or might not answer.
“You didn’t come to this rocky place in quest of any brindle steer,” the boy ventured. “Will you tell me what you did come for?”
“Perhaps I’ll do it if you’ll tell me what I want to know,” was the reply, “and that is this: What were you doing with that wounded boy in that nest of rocks?”
“You know the lad is wounded, then?”
“I don’t suppose you could hear much in this storm, but I’ve walked twice around the spot where you sat,” was the reply.