He dismounted and beat heavily upon the door with the butt of a pistol.
The answer was so long in coming that he began to believe the hut was empty, which would serve his purpose best of all, but at last a voice, thick with sleep, called: "Who's there ?" "I'm lost and I need shelter," Harry replied.
"Wait a minute," returned the voice.
Harry, despite the beat of the rain, heard a shuffling inside, and then, through a crack in the door, he saw a light spring up.

He hoped the owner of the voice would hurry.

The rain seemed to be beating harder than ever upon him and the cold was in his bones.

Then the door was thrown back suddenly and an uncommonly sharp voice shouted: "Drop the reins! Throw up your hands an' walk in, where I kin see what you are!" Harry found himself looking into the muzzle of an old-fashioned long-barreled rifle.

But the hammer was cocked, and it was held by a pair of large, calloused, and steady hands, belonging to a tall, thin man with powerful shoulders and a bearded face.
There was no help for it.