“Well, I suppose I’d better be getting back again,” he thought to himself. “What a magnificent country! It is like those cloud palaces you see among the thunder heads on a still summer’s day in New England.”
With half a sigh at leaving such a spectacle behind him, the boy turned his horse, and as he did so gave vent to a shout of surprise.
Kneeling on one knee behind a rock, and pointing a rifle full at him, was the figure of a man who must have crept quietly up while Jack had been admiring the view. This figure made a gesture cautioning Jack not to move, and then gave a shrill whistle. Instantly the woods all about galvanized into life. A score of wild-looking horsemen sprang out. They were all armed, and Jack, utterly at a loss to know what this could portend, stopped short.
“Well, senors, what is it?” he asked politely.
“Get off that horse, Miguel de Acosta,” ordered one of the men sternly. “It is useless to resist, and——”
“But my name doesn’t happen to be Miguel de Acosta,” protested Jack.
“In that case, what are you doing with his horse?”
“Whose horse?”
“Why, De Acosta’s. If you are not De Acosta and have his horse you are a horse thief, which is as bad under our laws as any of the crimes of which De Acosta is accused.”