Alex knew the foreigner had gone to learn whether the dynamite had been touched. In suspense he awaited the result. Would the Italian be deceived? Would he notice the new footprints about the bush?
Big Tony returned. “All-aright,” he announced. Alex breathed a sigh of relief, and continued forward with his captors.
They proceeded some distance in silence, and presently Alex had sufficiently plucked up courage to again ask what they proposed doing with him.
“I’m going to take you where you will be out of mischief, that’s all,” replied the unknown cowman. As he spoke he halted, looked about, and resigning Alex to the guardianship of the Italian, disappeared in the shadow of an over-hang of the ravine. A moment later there was a clatter of hoofs, and he reappeared leading a horse.
“Make heem rida too?” questioned Big Tony.
“Hardly,” responded the cowman, at the same time freeing and swinging a lariat from the saddle-horn. “He’s going to trot along behind me like the blame little coyote he is.
“Hold out your hands, kid!” he ordered. Seeing resistance was useless, Alex reluctantly complied. Running the noose of the lassoo about the boy’s wrists, the cowman tightened it, and secured it with several knots. Swinging into the saddle, he fixed the other end to the saddle-horn.
“You may go now, Tony,” he said to the foreigner as he caught up the reins and headed the pony toward a path to the surface which Alex had not noticed.
“Gooda night, Meester Munson. And gooda-by, smart boy,” said the Italian. “Lucky for you I havanta my way. ‘Scrugk!’ That’s what you get,” he declared, drawing his hand across his throat.
“Munson, eh?” murmured Alex as the lassoo tightened, and he stumbled up the path behind the pony. “That’s another good thing learned.”