These brief instructions seemed to be well understood. Whitmore had selected his companion, a strong, cool, hardy young man, who had served in the Iron Brigade during the war, and the two, without rifles, but with pistols at their sides, started on foot for the ranch. Before they reached its open door the men connected with the train were lying concealed along and near the crest of the ridge ready for service. The two were met at the door of the ranch by two or three of the occupants of the cabin. Whereupon, Whitmore, without any circumlocution, said to them, "I want my oxen." The reply, as might have been expected, was embodied in a few vigorous curses, and the question, "What the h--l have we got to do with your oxen?" Whitmore was a man who had seen much of western life and in emergencies had command of a vigorous vocabulary in common use in that country. He also knew that the men whom he was now confronting were part of a band of the banditti of the plains, who were likely to kill on the slightest provocation. He was also conscious that the least evidence of timidity would render his mission fruitless, if not fatal. He accordingly and in very emphatic language informed his auditors that they must promptly deliver to him the missing stock. This announcement brought to the front a number of tough-looking men, who emerged from an adjoining room attracted by the pointed conversation at the front of the ranch, and all were apparently enraged because of Whitmore's assertion that they were thieves. Thus far the interview had been simply a war of words, but now the ranchers declared that they would kill him instanter if the demand should be repeated. At that point Whitmore had occasion to wipe the perspiration from his brow, which he did with his big red handkerchief, which he flourished as he stood near the door. This was the agreed signal, and forty men, armed with rifles, suddenly came rushing down the slope, completely surrounding the ranch. The demonstration was undoubtedly a surprise to the gang of the cabin. Whitmore hardly moved from his tracks, but quietly said, "I have just one more word to say to you fellows. We mean business. Two of you men may go outside of our lines to get my oxen. You may tell me which men you wish to have to go. If another man attempts to leave he will be shot. If those oxen are not delivered here by six o'clock tonight, we'll blow your d--d old ranch to ---- the infernal regions. I know you fellows from away back. Now how does that strike you?" The declaration was duly emphasized with appropriate epithets, such as are supposed to add force and lucidity to such a statement, as legal terms often do in arguments made in courts of justice.