"Do you know how to use this, senor?" Nicolas asked, as he passed over a small coil of stout hempen cord.
"I think we can fix the fellow," Tom nodded. "Roll him over, Harry, and hold him. Don't let the scoundrel reach for any other weapons."
Gato's rifle lay on the ground. Tom pushed it aside with one foot as Harry turned the fellow.
"Get his hands behind him," muttered Tom. "I'll do the tying."
In a very short space of time Gato's hands had been securely bound behind him. More cord was tied around his ankles, in such a way that Gato would be able to take short steps but not run.
Suddenly Gato groaned and opened his eyes.
"You'll be more comfortable on your back, old fellow," murmured
Tom. "Wait. I'll turn you."
Gato stared blankly, at first. Evidently he did not realize the situation all at once. At last a curse leaped to his lips.
"Go easy on that bad-talk stuff," Tom urged him. "Gentlemen don't use such language, and men who travel with us must be gentlemen."
"You miserable Gringo!" wailed Gato, gnashing his teeth. "You will always be full of treacherous tricks. Even when I had you in front of me, and my eyes on you, you managed to knock me down."