“But Frank, you must be joking, because he’s shut up in that bunk-house good and tight. How could Mendoza get ahead of us to the pass, and touch off that big mine?”
Even as Bob was saying this the expression on his face changed. Some sudden idea had found a speedy lodgement in his mind; and without waiting for his chum to make any reply to his question he went on:
“Oh! now I see what you mean, Frank; he must have had a mine planted, connected with his
old cabin by a wire, and a battery! He fired the charge from there; is that what you want to tell me, Frank?”
“That’s what I believe,” replied the other, firmly.
“But why would he do that, Frank? Do you think the miserable coward expected to blow us all up?” demanded Bob, with considerable heat.
“Oh! I don’t know about that,” Frank went on, slowly, as though loath to believe the Mexican could be so vindictive; “but I do think Mendoza wants to close the neck of the bottle here, so that dad can’t take his cattle out of this valley.”
“That sounds just like all I’ve heard of Mendoza!” cried Bob. “I wouldn’t put it past him one minute. But Frank, he took big chances of blowing us up at the same time. If we’d been closer, we might have been hit by some of the rocks I heard falling like hail all around!”
“That was our lookout, and Mendoza wasn’t going to trouble himself about making sure none of us were hurt. Stop and think, Bob; you’ll remember how he told dad, with one of his laughs, how we would never take the stock out of this valley? Well, he believes he’s fixed it that way right now!”
“Then we’re in a nice pickle, aren’t we?” lamented the other saddle boy. “If he’s blown that little pass into a ruin, and cut off our only way