At the clearing, Jim dismounted to stretch his legs. He sat down contentedly on a big rock by his fireplace.
“Well, here we are, back together again at the old hangout, Ticktock,” he observed happily to the pony.
He tossed a rock into the ashes of the fireplace. Nothing could keep him and his mustang down. Then he noticed that the disturbed ashes were smoking slightly. Alarmed, he poked in the fireplace with a stick. There was no doubt that a fire had been built there recently. Clutching his gun, he looked around at the trees.
“Someone has been here in our hide-out,” he confided softly to Ticktock.
The pony was not grazing as usual but looking around inquiringly. Frowning fiercely, Jim tried to feel as brave as he looked. Cautiously he peered inside the brush hut. It was empty; so he began to make a slow circuit of the clearing, staying well back in the trees. He was approaching the lower end near the stream, trying to move silently over the rocky ground when he stumbled over something projecting from a low bush. He spun around with his rifle ready, completely forgetting that he had never loaded the gun. There was a stir in the bush and then a man’s face peered out. Two sleep-clouded eyes looked at Jim and his rifle. The eyes opened wide and lost their sleepiness.
“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! I give up,” said a frightened voice.
Chapter Eleven
The Conspirators
It was difficult to say which of the two was the more frightened, the man in the bushes or Jim. The only difference was that Jim held a rifle. He didn’t know quite what to do with it as all his training had been to the effect that he should never point the muzzle of a gun at anyone. So he waved the gun around uncertainly, first pointing it at the man and then away. The erratic maneuvers of the gun muzzle served to terrify the stranger even more.
“Don’t shoot!” he repeated, his frightened eyes going back and forth as they followed the end of the waving gun barrel with a horrified fascination.
The man presented a very odd sight. He was short, but with abnormally broad shoulders and powerful arms. His heavily muscled body was stripped to the waist, and he wore nothing but a pair of faded khaki trousers. This garment was crumpled and dirty with several jagged tears in the legs. He was both barefooted and bareheaded. His brown weathered face and arms had numerous partially healed scratches and cuts. At first Jim received an impression of villainous ferocity caused by the man’s mangled face. Then as he calmed down he saw the stranger had an ugly but rather pleasant countenance. Also, that powerful chest looked rather gaunt, for the ribs were beginning to show. Jim looked at his captive in uncertainty, unable to decide whether to feel angry, terrified, or sorry for the man.