“Sure, pard’ner, right under the shed,” was the reply; “good-looking pony, too.”
Jim borrowed a lantern and he and Ralph went out. There was no question about it. One look was enough. It was the missing pony.
“Well, that’s what I call poetic justice,” said Jim.
“Hark!” cried Ralph suddenly. “What was that?”
“Somebody hollered,” declared Jim; “it came from the hut. Maybe that scallywag is dead.”
Ralph set off running. The cry had been in Jimmie’s voice. He had recognized it. What could have happened?
Inside the hut there was a strange scene. Jimmie was on his knees at the bedside of the wild-looking man and was crying out:
“Father! It’s me! Jimmie! Father, don’t you know me?”
But the man on the bed was delirious. He shouted incoherently.