Suddenly Tad raised his rope above his head and gave it three sharp twirls. Then he let go. The big loop dropped over the head of the unfortunate pack mule.
“Jump on him and hold him down,” shouted Tad. “Be careful that you don’t go over.”
The boys hesitated slightly. Perhaps they could not have accomplished anything, but Butler did not wait to see. He had slipped from his own pony with a sharp, commanding “Whoa” to the little animal, which served in a measure to reassure it.
The lad then sprang to the upright rock carrying the end of his rope with him. He did not make the mistake of making the end fast to his own body as he might have done in some circumstances. Instead he threw the rope over the rock, taking one quick turn about it. He had no more than taken that turn when the slack on the rope was suddenly taken up and the rope was drawn taut.
There was no need to look around to see what had happened. Butler knew well enough without looking. The pack mule had slipped over the edge and was hanging there with the boy’s 72lasso about its neck. The rope was tough rawhide, and Tad felt sure it would hold. Still, that would not save the mule, so he made fast and sprang to the other side of the trail. The mule, he found, was dying a terrible death.
The freckle-faced Tad comprehended the situation in a single glance. He knew now that it would not be possible to save the pack animal. Drawing his revolver he placed the muzzle close to the head of the unfortunate beast and pulled the trigger.
The report, in the walled-in pass, sounded like the discharge of a cannon.
“N-n-n-now you’ve done it,” chattered Stacy Brown.
“Tad, Tad! What have you done?” cried the Professor.
“I have put the poor thing out of its agony, that’s all,” answered Butler. His face was pale and his eyes troubled.