As they espied the horsemen on the opposite bank, and realizing that there was but one way to escape, the thieves turned in their saddles and simultaneously fired a shot at their boy pursuers.
The balls whistled by the boys’ heads, but did not stop their furious gallop. Again the thieves fired, and again the balls whistled harmlessly by their heads.
But they had no chance to fire again, for the lads were right upon them. Suddenly Donald’s hand
shot forward, and his lariat sung out with lightning speed. True to its aim, it fell over the shoulders of the nearest Mexican. Wireless stopped as though he had been suddenly rooted to the spot; the Mexican’s horse dashed on riderless, and his master lay senseless upon the ground.
At the same moment Billie’s revolver cracked and the horse of the other fleeing Mexican pitched headlong to the earth, carrying his rider with him. Before he could recover himself, Billie had pulled up beside him, and, leaping to the ground, quickly bound him with his own lariat.
The boys had hardly regained their breath, when a loud cheer announced the arrival of the other horsemen.
“Good for you, young fellows,” exclaimed the leader of the band, as he, too, sprang from his saddle. “You’ve made an important capture. We’ve been trying to get evidence against these cutthroats for weeks. I surely owe you one.”
“That’s good,” laughed Billie. “It’s mighty nice to have something coming. But who are you?”
“Oh, me,” was the good-natured rejoinder. “I’m Captain June Peak, of the Texas Rangers, and these are part of my company.”