“Nearly. But I guess I ‘got him’ one better.”
“Is he safe for awhile, do you think?”
As the two men moved to the edge of the car and apparently gazed down at the prostrate figure in the ditch, Alex shrank back with apprehension on his own account.
“Perhaps we’d better make sure of him.”
“All right. Here is a bit of rope.”
Hurriedly Alex crawled beneath the nearby truck, behind the wheels, and a tall figure in the garb of a cowboy dropped to the ground before him and ran down to the still unconscious oiler. Binding the prostrate man’s feet together at the ankles, the cowman turned the oiler on his face, and secured his hands behind his back. Turning him again face up, he studied his eyes a moment, and announcing, “Good job. Only stunned,” he returned to the car and drew himself up on it.
“Now what’ll we do?” inquired his companion. “That idiot has knocked our plans to pieces. We can’t go back and say we neither made the deal, nor did anything else for our money.”
“We’ll have to tear things up ourselves,” said the first man decisively. “Let us see what we can do in the engine-room here.”
The footsteps passed into the engine-house, and Alex at once crawled forth, to make his way back to the velocipede.
As he emerged from beneath the car he paused to glance down at the prostrate oiler. Should he leave him lying there? It did not seem right, despite the obvious necessity of heading for the junction without a moment’s delay.