He was a tall, brawny man, roughly dressed, but still rather neater in appearance than the other dwellers in dug-outs whom Oscar had seen along the trail. His hair and whiskers looked as though they were combed occasionally, and it was plain that he had sometimes washed his face, for when he came to the door he brought with him a towel, which he was using vigorously. If he recognized an old acquaintance in the guide, there was nothing in his actions to indicate the fact. Indeed, he did not appear to see him. His gaze was fixed upon Oscar, at whom he stared with every indication of astonishment. He looked very hard at him for a moment; and, uttering an exclamation under his breath, stepped back into his house, dropping the blanket to its place. Before the boy—who was somewhat surprised at these actions—could look toward his guide for an explanation, the man again appeared at the door, and this time he carried something besides a towel in his hands. It was a double-barrel shot-gun. Oscar heard the hammers click as they were drawn back, and a moment later the weapon was looking him squarely in the face, while the ranchman’s eye was glancing along the clean brown tubes, and his finger was resting on one of the triggers. “Climb down, pard,” said he in savage tones. “I have been waiting for you.” CHAPTER XIX. THE STOLEN MULE. To say that Oscar was astonished at the ranchman’s words and actions would but feebly express his feelings. He was utterly confounded; and, instead of obeying the order to “climb down,” he looked toward his guide, whose blank expression of countenance showed that he understood the matter no better than his employer did. “You heard me, pard,” continued the ranchman, seeing that Oscar did not move. “You had better be a-tumbling, for I can’t hold on to this barker much longer.” This implied that the ranchman was about to shoot; and Oscar, now beginning to realize the danger of his situation, sprang out of the wagon with such haste that he missed his footing as he stepped upon the wheel, and fell headlong to the ground. He scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could, his movement being greatly accelerated by the report of the gun, which, however, was not pointed toward himself. As quick as Oscar was, the guide was quicker. Without saying a word Big Thompson swung himself from his pony, and, dashing forward, seized the gun; and it was during the short but desperate struggle that ensued that the piece was discharged. The ranchman fought furiously to retain possession of the weapon, but it was quickly torn from his grasp, and then the two men backed off and looked at each other. “Now, Ike Barker!” exclaimed the guide, who was the first to speak, “what’s the meanin’ of sich actions as them, an’ what did ye do it fur, I axes ye?” “I’ll talk to you after a while,” was the ranchman’s reply. “That’s my mule, and I am going to have him!”