"Do you mean to tell us that we can place no dependence upon our senses?" demanded Mr. Lowry, while an ominous light shone in his eyes.
"No, sir; I mean to tell you that you are mistaken as to my identity. On the night you got those fresh horses I was at Catfish Falls, watching my cattle which had been stolen from me, as I told you."
"As you told us!" echoed Joe. "Great Moses! Are you the scamp that sent us to Dickerman's when we wanted to go to Ackerman's?"
"Hold on, Joe!" said Mr. Lowry, extending his arm to interrupt the riding-whip which was brandished threateningly in the air. "He can't get out of this scrape by pretending to be somebody else. We saw him standing on his father's porch, and he had these same clothes on, too."
"These are not my clothes."
"Whose are they then, and what are you doing in them?"
"They belong to my cousin, Ned Ackerman, who, if he has had good luck, is safe in Brownsville by this time. He was the one who traded for Silk Stocking, and the reason why he would not give him up, was because he was afraid that you would lay violent hands upon him. I exchanged my clothes for his at the time I was captured by the Greasers, and I did it for his protection, little dreaming that I should get myself into trouble by it. I knew that you would follow him, and that if you came up with him you would recognise him by his dress."
"What do you mean by saying that you were captured by Greasers?" asked Joe, whose anger seemed to have given away to astonishment.
"I mean just what I say. I have been a prisoner on the other side of the river since last Thursday, and it was there I found Silk Stocking."
The ranchmen looked at each other for a moment, and then broke out into loud peals of laughter. George's story was too ridiculous for belief.
CHAPTER VI
GEORGE PROVES AN ALIBI
"Young fellow," exclaimed Joe, who was the first to speak. "I have often said that when I came across the champion liar, I would give him my hat. I think you are fairly entitled to it. Here, take it!" he added, pulling off his sombrero and extending it toward George, who was forced to smile in spite of himself. "I'll go home bareheaded!"
"You are a good one, I declare," remarked Mr. Lowry. "I said you should never back my horse again, but I think you have earned a ride. Jump on and come with us."
Without a moment's hesitation George swung himself upon Silk Stocking's back and rode away with the ranchemen, who burst out into fresh peals of laughter every time they looked at him.
"Do you know any more funny stories?" asked Joe, at length.
"I have only made a beginning," answered George.
"Got more of them back, have you?" exclaimed Mr. Lowry. "If I wasn't so mad at you I would let you go on, just to see how big a story you can tell."
"I could tell you one that would make you open your eyes," said George, "and it would be nothing but the truth. But I know you wouldn't believe a word of it, and perhaps it would be better that you should hear it from somebody besides myself. You will give me a chance to prove that I am not the boy you take me for, will you not?"
"O, yes," replied Mr. Lowry, who seemed to have recovered his good-nature all of a sudden. "We'll give you all the chance you want."
"Then let's turn off here to the right. This is my ranche – or rather it will be mine if I live to be twenty-one years old – and that house you see over there was my home when my father was alive."
There was something in those words that touched Joe's heart. He looked steadily at George for a moment, and then asked in a much kinder tone of voice than he had thus far used in addressing him.
"Where is your home now?"
"I have none," replied George sadly. "But that is a part of my story, and, as I said before, I would rather that somebody else should tell it to you. Then perhaps you will believe it."
After this the three relapsed into silence, and did not speak again until they rode around the house and drew rein in front of the porch. Jake, who was acting as manager of the ranche during Uncle John's absence, and Bob, another herdsman, who was officiating as cook, hearing the sound of their horses' hoofs, came out to see who the visitors were. At that moment George was just dismounting. The men took one look at his sombrero, ornamented with its gaudy cord and tassel, and at the patent-leather boots, with their silver-plated spurs, and were about to walk away with an exclamation of disgust, when George turned his face toward them. Then they uttered ejaculations indicative of the greatest astonishment, and springing forward caught him in their arms.
"Why, Mr. George, is this you?" cried Jake, when he had given the boy two or three bear-like hugs, during which he swung him clear off the ground. "It is, aint it? We thought the Greasers had got you, sure."
"And so they did have me," answered George, after he had brushed back his hair and replaced his sombrero, which had fallen from his head. "I have only just escaped from them. Now, Jake, I want you to answer a few questions for me."
"Heave ahead, Mr. George," replied Jake. "Thar's been a heap of things goin' on here since you've been away."
"I don't care anything about that. I want you to tell my friends here who I am."
"Who you be?" The herdsman backed away and gave the boy a good looking over, as if to make sure of his identity, and continued almost indignantly: "Why, you are George Ackerman, the young gentleman who will some day own this yere ranche an' everything what's onto it. An' a mighty fine piece of property it is, too, gents," he added, nodding to the two horsemen, who had not yet dismounted. "Worth a clean forty thousand a year."
"Never mind that," said George, hastily. "Whose clothes are these I have on?"
"They are Ned Ackerman's," replied Jake, throwing as much contempt as he could into his tones. "But how you came by 'em, and how you can bring yourself to wear that feller's duds, beats my time all holler. Don't it your'n, Bob? He's the chap, gents, Ned is, who traded for this very hoss, an' who held fast to him arter he knowed that he had oughter give him up. He's the fine lad that shot Cook's cattle, too, Ned is. Oh, he's meaner'n – meaner'n – "
Jake flourished his clenched hand over his head and glared wildly about, being utterly at a loss for a simile.
"Remember who he is and say nothing hard against him," said George quietly. "He has never injured you in any way. Was Ned at home on the night these gentlemen came here in search of Silk Stocking?"
"'Course he was. He stood right here on the porch an' heard everything they had to tell about the hoss bein' stole. That's why I say he had oughter give him up."
"What was the reason he would not surrender him?"
"'Cause he dassent, the coward. He was afeared they'd trounce him. An' served him right if you had, too, gents. That boy oughter have some sense pounded into him."
"Hold on, Jake. Where was I on the night in question?"
"You? You was off to Catfish Falls, a'most a hundred miles from here, whar the Greasers jumped down on you an' stampeded your cattle."
"Then they did rob me of my cattle, did they?"
"Mr. George!" exclaimed the herdsman, who had been every moment growing angrier under this catechising, of which he could not see the object, "what be you tryin' to get through yourself, any how?"
"Nothing at all. I only want you to answer my questions. Did the raiders run off any of my cattle?"
"They run 'em all off; but Zeke, he put the settlers on the trail an' got 'em all back agin. Mighty pretty herd it is, too, gents. Three hundred head of 'em, an' all fit for market."
"You remember the night these gentlemen came here to punish Ned, and you assisted me to get him out of the house before they arrived, do you not?"
"I ain't likely to forget it," replied Jake, drawing himself up to his full height, and looking defiantly at the two horsemen, as if to say that if he and George had done anything wrong in assisting Ned in his extremity, and they felt like punishing them for it, they