Nestor shook his head pityingly. He knew the rough western men too well. They never let even a suspected horse thief escape.
Little time was lost in preparation. Once beneath the tree the men formed in a circle. The rope was thrown over a limb and a noose made. The professor was placed beneath it, and the other end of the rope was grasped by a dozen hands.
“Have you anything to say before we string you up?” asked the leader.
Aside from a little paleness, which hardly showed in the waning afternoon, Professor Snodgrass gave no sign of what must be a terrible ordeal for him. He did not seem to appreciate what was taking place.
Suddenly, as he stood beneath the fatal noose, he leaned forward. One hand sought the green box which was still strapped to his back. The other went out with a cautious gesture to the arm of the leader of the cowboys.
“Don’t stir! Don’t move for the world!” exclaimed the professor, in a strained whisper. “Just a second and I’ll have him!”
His hand closed on something on the leader’s coat-sleeve and he uttered a cry that was more of delight than fear.
“I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” he cried.
“Got what?” asked the cowboy.