And so his hastily formed suspicions had been right! And Blimby, the cowboy, had also guessed the truth!
So stunning was the surprise that Tom scarcely heard Alvin’s repeated and impatient demands for an explanation. Through the binocular he could plainly see the patriarchal-looking man, all unsuspicious of the fact that human eyes were fixed keenly upon him, urge his dripping horse up to the beach.
So, after all, he was one of the cattle rustlers. It gave him a great thrill to reflect that he had ridden for miles and miles in the company of an outlaw. It came as a distinct shock, too.
He revealed the nature of his discovery to Carl Alvin. The Ranger’s eyes brightened; he, too, whistled softly.
“Too bad! too bad!” he murmured. “I liked the old chap so well! I can scarcely believe it. This is a bad day’s work for him. In another moment we must be off!”
Tom made no reply; he was too busily studying the other members of the party. They were much younger men, strongly built, and had the same refined appearance which characterized the leader.
“Which makes it all the worse!” thought the lad.
Alvin was now busily bucking on his cartridge belt. He turned to the Rambler.
“You’d better keep out of this, Tom!” he exclaimed in earnest tones. “Rustlers are a desperate lot and there may be a lot of gun play!”
“I’m going along,” answered Tom, briefly.