This immediately flashed into flame, indicating that Mendoza, in order in make sure of a good start, had soaked the material with some inflammable substance; perhaps kerosene.
Bob knew that something was apt to happen about that time; nor was he at all mistaken. He saw a dark figure drop down upon the crouching fire-bug, and heard a startled exclamation. Then the two men went whirling over the ground, locked in a close embrace.
“This way, Bob!” cried Frank, rushing forward to stamp out the rapidly spreading flames; for that work had been given over to their charge. “Old Hank will help Ted! Kick lively now, and scatter the fire!”
They worked at a furious rate, and soon had the flames under control. Others had meanwhile come dashing to the spot—Scotty, Jeff Davis, Bart, the foreman, and last, though far from least, the stockman himself.
Old Hank Coombs had taken a hand in the game, and Mendoza was speedily overcome, though he writhed and squirmed to the last uttering harsh words intended for the owner of the ranch.
“What will they do with him, Frank?” asked Bob, as he saw signs that indicated a general outpouring of the cowboy legion from the nearby bunk-house, and other places where the overflow had been lodged.
Even Bob realized that if ever these furious fellows laid hands on Mendoza he would meet with a swift fate, which, perhaps, he well deserved, as he had long been the pest of the border, and a thorn in the sides of all cattle raisers.
“Dad will do everything in his power to hold the boys quiet,” Frank answered. “See, he’s telling Hank and Ted to take him right inside the house; and there he’ll be kept. I understood Dad to say he’d sent word to the sheriff to come around with a posse in the morning.”
“Oh! then perhaps Mendoza will get a chance to work a few years in the penitentiary, after all,” remarked Bob.
“He will, if the sheriff ever gets him to town safe,” replied Frank, doubtfully.