"Well, yes," replied Matt. "It's my brand, and you'd be a heap better off if it was yours."
He had been scrutinizing the man closely. He now saw that he was young, that he had blue eyes, and that he was wearing cowboy clothes. His hat, of course, was in the river.
"Who are you?" the young fellow asked.
"I'll tell you later," was the indefinite reply.
"How did you happen to be around here in that flying machine?" went on the other suspiciously.
"You'll find that out, too, at the proper time."
"If you're from the Tin Cup Ranch——"
"I'm not, so make your mind easy on that. But I know you. You're George Hobbes, and you robbed the cowboys at the Tin Cup Ranch in a game of cards, last night. You——"
With a fierce exclamation, the youth sat up, and his right hand darted toward his hip.
"You're not going to do any shooting," said Matt. "Your gun's in the river, and you'd have been there, too, but for me. What sort of way is that to act toward the man who saved you from drowning?"