He clucked to the pony, which started forward suddenly, throwing a strain upon the rope.
"Steady, Pink-eye. We don't want to hurt him," he cautioned, slowing the animal down to almost a walk.
"Are you on your feet back there?"
"Y-y-y-yes."
There came a sharp jerk on the line. The boy knew that the man he had roped, pinioning his arms to his side had managed to get his hands up and grasped the line. In a moment he would free himself.
Tad pressed the rowels of his spurs against Pink-eye's sides. The animal sprang forward, but the boy quickly checked him, pulling him down into a jog trot that was not beyond the endurance of a man to follow for a short distance.
"Remember if you allow yourself to fall down I'll drag you the rest of the way in," warned Tad Butler. "I won't hurt you if you behave yourself."
"Le—le—let me go. I—I—I—I—aint't done n-n-nothing."
"We'll decide that when I get you back to camp," answered Tad. "And don't let me hear you raising your voice again or I'll put spurs to the pony. Do you understand?"
"Y-y-y-e-s."