Smoky Griffin found himself gazing into the muzzle of Tad Butler's revolver. This brought the mountaineer to a quick halt, his eyes blazing with passion. Slowly the rifle was lowered from its clubbed position, Smoky still grasping it by the barrel.
"Put the gun back where you found it," directed Tad.
The conversation had been carried on in a low tone, so as not to disturb the camp. Tad was still grinning. He had enjoyed the little scene immensely, besides which he had taught the former bully of Hunt's Corners another wholesome lesson.
"Now stand where you are, that's a good little boy. Don't try to run. You might be stopped so suddenly that you would take a tumble. Ned!"
One call was sufficient. Ned Rector came stumbling out, rubbing his eyes sleepily.
"Wha—what is it?"
"If you don't mind, I wish you would tie our friend here—"
"But, how did he get loose?"
"He managed it all by himself, then he tried to shoot me. I knew he would attempt to get away. We will tie him up this time so he won't get loose. Secure him to that tree, Ned, and tie him good and tight, but not so tightly that it will hurt. Smoky, you sit down with your back against that tree. You will be quite comfortable there and it is only a few hours till daybreak now," suggested Butler.
Smoky did not obey at once. Thereupon Ned pushed him backwards against a tree. In that instant the mountaineer's arms gripped Rector around the waist, pinioning Ned's arms to his sides, and though Ned struggled to free himself he might as well have tried to wriggle from the grip of an iron vise. The boy thought his ribs were being crushed in.