The blankets fell away from the racing savages, flapped on the rumps of the bobbing ponies for a few seconds and then slipped to the ground.
A rifle was reposing in each man's holster, as Tad observed instantly. He was thankful to note that the guns were not in the hands of the Indians.
The lad's right hand had dropped carelessly to the saddle horn, the fingers cautiously gathering in the coils of the lariat that hung there. The red men did not appear to have observed his act.
"Lie low!" commanded Tad, scarcely above a whisper.
Stacy settled down slowly so as not to attract attention.
One horseman shot directly across Tad's course, striking the lad's pony full in the face as he did so, and causing the animal to brace himself so suddenly as to nearly unseat both boys.
Tad's rope was in the air in a twinkling.
A warning shout from the second Indian, who was just to the rear of them, came too late. The rope shot true to its mark and the first savage, with back half-turned, had failed to observe it coming.
The great loop dropped over his head. The pony braced itself and Tad took a quick turn of the rope about the pommel of his saddle.
The result was instantaneous. The Indian was catapulted from his saddle with arms pinioned to his aide.