So interested had Alex been in the second conflict that momentarily he had forgotten the man on the ground before him. He was reminded by suddenly finding himself sprawling upon his back, and regaining his feet, found their prisoner also racing off at top speed. The oiler darted after, but quickly gave it up. He was no match for the light-footed cowman.
Seeing the pistol still in Alex’s hand, he cried, “Shoot! Shoot him!”
Alex raised the revolver, faltered, and lowered it. “No. I can’t,” he said.
“I can!” The oiler darted back and wrested it from Alex’s hand. As he whirled about to fire, Alex grasped his arm. “No! Wait! Look!” he exclaimed. “The Indian is after him!”
Turning, the oiler saw the Indian, with his own and one of the other ponies, storming across the ground in pursuit of the runner. Silently they watched.
As he heard the pounding hoofs behind him, the fleeing cowboy glanced about, and set on at greater speed than ever. Quickly, however, the horses cut down the distance between them.
The Indian leaned toward the second pony, took something from the saddle-horn, and began to adjust it on his arm.
“He’s going to lassoo him!” said Alex breathlessly.
Nearer drew the Indian to the fleeing man, and hand and lassoo went into the air and began to weave circles. Tensely the two on the embankment watched.
Closer the horses drew. Wider the circle of the lassoo extended.