The stranger shook the flame out of the match-stick carefully and threw it away before turning toward his captor.
"Young man," he said with perfect self-possession, "don't fool with that gun; it might go off."
His drawl was characteristic of the region; his tone was one of amused tolerance. Ardmore was short of stature, and his knickerbockers, leggings and Norfolk jacket were not wholly consonant with the revolver, which, however, he leveled very steadily at the stranger's head.
"You are an intruder on my property," said the master of Ardsley, "and unless I'm much mistaken you have been playing ghost in that cabin. I've heard about you. Your gang has been cutting off my timber about long enough, and this game of playing ghost to scare my men won't do."
"Stealing your timber?" And the stranger was clearly surprised. He held his pipe in his hand with his thumb over the bowl and seemed to take a more serious interest in his captor.
"And now," continued Ardmore, "I'm about tired of having this end of the country run by the Appleweights, and their disreputable gang, so I'm going to lock you up."
The stranger turned toward the cabin, one corner of which was plainly visible, and shrugged his shoulders.
"I have nothing to do with the Appleweights, and I assure you I am not a timber thief."
"Then you must be the one who has lifted a few steers out of my herd. It makes no difference just what branch of the business you are engaged in, for we're picking up all the gang and you've got to come along with me."
The captive showed signs of anger for the first time. His face flushed, and he took a step toward Ardmore, who immediately threw up the revolver so that it pointed at the man's head.