I left the cattle raiser wondering at the suddenness of my exit, and entered the small room, where I found Mr. Critchet suffering with nervous agitation.
"Have you heard all?" I asked.
"Yes, all."
"And do you think that you recognize the voice?"
"It is Follet," he whispered.
"Dare you face him, and demand restitution for your wrongs?" I inquired.
"Why should I fear to meet him, and strike terror into his guilty heart? Let me go at once."
"Then roll the collar of your coat over your face, and slouch your hat over your eyes, and keep them there until I ask you to remove them. Now keep up a stout heart, and trust to fortune for the result."
Mr. Critchet followed me from the room without another word. His agitation seemed to have left him, and he displayed all the "pluck" which characterizes the representatives of Great Britain, when placed in situations that require nerve and courage.
"Hullo! is that the man you have selected to purchase my stock?" cried the stranger, with a hoarse laugh; "why, a horseback ride of ten miles before breakfast would finish him for the day, and if bullocks should get sight of his thin form, they would break into open rebellion, for they know that it requires a powerful arm to use a stock-whip. Take your old granddaddy back to bed, and send me a customer that can keep the saddle all day, and sleep in a pond of water all night, if need be."