For the life of him Tom could not help halting and wheeling about.
The next second he uttered a low cry of glee.
For Pedro Gato lay flat on the ground, Nicolas bending over him.
"Quick, caballeros!" implored Nicolas again.
"You fine chap," chuckled Reade, bounding back and bending over
Gato, as Nicolas was doing.
"There was no other way to save you," whispered the servant.
"I had to do it."
As Nicolas raised his right hand, Reade could not help seeing that it was stained with blood.
"See here," gasped Tom, recoiling. "You didn't—you didn't knife the scoundrel?"
He had all of an American's disgust of knife-fighting.
"Oh, no—not I," returned the little Mexican. "I do not use the knife. I am a servant, not a coward. But I had to throw a stone. I am thankful, senor, that my aim was good."
Tom now discovered that blood was coming from a wound in Gato's head. Moreover, the rascal was beginning to moan. He would soon recover consciousness.