“Well, the long and short of it all was that Senor Olivas and his wife were both gagged and bound hand and foot, while Murietta ransacked the house, found the strong box and carried away every blamed gold coin that Olivas had received for the sale of his steers. The outlaw succeeded in makin’ his escape into the Tehachapi mountains with his cut-throat gang, and they found a hidin’ place in the robbers’ cave that is somewhere hereabouts on the San Antonio Rancho. It sure was as slick a piece of rascality as was ever pulled off in the old lawless days.”
“Well,” observed Buck Ashley, as he shook his head reflectively, “I’m assoomin’ some of the cowboy fellers around here will find that cave one of these days. I’ve put in a good many Sundays huntin’ for it myself.”
Just then there was the sound of horses’ hoofs outside, and a moment later Jack Rover strolled into the store. Over his shoulder was slung the big leather bag for the rancho mails.
“Hallo, everybody,” was his greeting. “I’m ahead of time Buck, but the stage will be here in five minutes. I saw its dust above the ridge. I hear, lieutenant,” he went on, “you’re going to stick to the West and be one of us.”
“Quit the army?” exclaimed Tom Baker in surprise.
“That is so,” replied Munson. “California has fairly got hold of me, and I intend to make my home in the West.”
“Then you just stick here, young man,” said the sheriff, rising to his feet and extending his hand. “California is the pick of the States, and our valley the pick of California. Don’t you forget it. We’re proud to welcome you as a new resident.”
“That’s what I say, too,” concurred Buck Ashley, cordially.
Munson smiled. “Well, I don’t know if you can put me in the resident class all at once,” he observed, diffidently. “Guess I’ve got to join the cowboy brigade first, if Dick and Jack here will break me in.”
“Sure thing,” assented Jack Hover. “You’re a good rider now—for an army man.”