“Are you going to stand for this, Chip?” asked the red-headed fellow in a savage whisper.
“No,” said Merriwell; “we’ll interfere at the right time. Wait a minute.”
Clancy restrained himself and once more sank down behind the rocks. Parkman, one of Lenning’s companions, had begun to speak.
“I reckon we’d better stop shooting, Jode,” said he, “or the dog will hit the cap on the stones and set off the dynamite.”
“You’re right, Park,” answered Lenning. “We’ll pass up the shooting, touch off the fuse, and set the ki-yi adrift. When the cartridge goes off,” he chuckled, “I bet there won’t be enough of that tramp dog left to wad a gun. Lamson, you light the fuse. You can cut the rope, Park, when the fuse is going. Be quick about it or the whelp will take a piece out of you.”
Clancy’s eyes were fairly burning as he leaned toward Merry and gripped his arm.
“Do you know what those skunks are up to, Chip?” he whispered. “They’ve tied a dynamite cartridge to that brute’s tail, and they’re going to light the fuse and turn the dog loose!”
“No, they’re not,” said Merriwell decisively. “That’s what they’re aiming to do, Clan, but we’ll interfere with the game. They’re a fine crowd of cannibals, I must say,” he went on scathingly. “The colonel ought to be here and see that precious nephew of his in his real colors. Hang it, Clan, I’m so worked up I can’t see straight.”
Clancy gave vent to a gruesome laugh.
“Here we come from Tinaja Wells with an olive branch,” he chuckled, “and now we’re going out to lam Jode over the head with it. Come on. Lamson is getting ready to scratch a match and light the fuse.”