There were other hats he might have worn, but because this particular one was lost he fretted about it all through his dressing and then decided to have one more look around the barn for it.
For over a quarter of an hour he pottered about the barn, going from stall to stall, rummaging the harness room and feed room, all to no purpose.

At last he came out again upon the main floor, definitely giving up the search, looking about him to see if everything was in order.
The festoons of Japanese lanterns in and around the barn were not yet lighted, but some half-dozen lamps, with great, tin reflectors, that hung against the walls, were burning low.

A dull half light pervaded the vast interior, hollow, echoing, leaving the corners and roof thick with impenetrable black shadows.

The barn faced the west and through the open sliding doors was streaming a single bright bar from the after-glow, incongruous and out of all harmony with the dull flare of the kerosene lamps.
As Annixter glanced about him, he saw a figure step briskly out of the shadows of one corner of the building, pause for the fraction of one instant in the bar of light, then, at sight of him, dart back again.
There was a sound of hurried footsteps.
Annixter, with recollections of the stolen buckskin in his mind, cried out sharply: "Who's there ?" There was no answer.

In a second his pistol was in his hand.
"Who's there?
Quick, speak up or I'll shoot." "No, no, no, don't shoot," cried an answering voice.