“We have brought a paper for you to sign,” said Vasco.
“I will sign nothing,” replied Bob.
“I think you will, my boy,” spoke the Mexican. “Bring in the charcoal, Tom.”
Dalsett went out and returned with a small, portable clay stove in which burned some charcoal. Heating in the flames was an iron used for branding cattle.
“You can take your choice of signing this or of seeing how you look with a hot iron on,” said Vasco. “This paper is a letter to your father, telling him you have been captured by brigands, who will not let you go excepting they are paid ten thousand dollars.”
“I’ll never sign!” replied Bob, firmly.
“Then brand him!” cried Vasco.
One of the Mexicans took the iron from the fire. It glowed with a white, cruel heat. At the sight of it Bob’s courage melted away. At the same time a plan came into his head.
“I’ll sign!” he exclaimed.
“I thought you would,” observed Vasco. “Put your name here.”