"You had better not," said the Ranchero, smiling grimly, and shaking his head in a very threatening manner.
"I don't know that you can frighten me," returned Frank, coolly. "I wish I was a man for about five minutes."
"What would you do?" asked the Ranchero, who seemed to be pleased, as well as astonished, at the boy's courage and independence.
"I'd make your head and your heels change places in a great hurry. In other words, I'd knock you out of your saddle. Then I'd say: 'Good-by, Mr.—Mr.'—what's your name?"
"Mercedes—Antoine Mercedes."
"Well, Mr. Mercedes, I'll never forget that benevolent-looking face of yours. As I was saying, I would bid you good-by, and leave. I'd pass those fellows," he added, jerking his thumb over his shoulder toward the robbers in the rear, "before they could say 'General Jackson' with their mouth's open. You haven't got a horse, in this party, that can catch Roderick."
The Ranchero smiled again, and tapped the butt of one of his revolvers with his finger.
"Oh, you wouldn't have a chance to fire a pistol at me," said Frank, quickly. "By the time you could get on your feet again, after I had knocked you down, I would be a mile from here. Did Pierre ever tell you how nicely I fooled him?" he continued, noticing that the chief was turned half around in his saddle, listening to what he had to say. "Well I am not surprised that he never mentioned it, for he ought to feel ashamed of himself."
"Ay; but I have got you fast this time," said Pierre, with a laugh. "Let us see how nicely you will fool me now. One at a time here, men," he added, in a louder tone, "and keep close watch of those prisoners."
As Pierre spoke, the cavalcade emerged from the woods, and Frank found himself on the brink of a rocky chasm, which stretched away to the right as far as his eye could reach, and seemed to extend down into the very bowels of the earth. It was so deep that his head grew dizzy, as he looked into it. On his left, and directly in front of him, was a precipitous mountain, the top of which hung threateningly over the gorge below. It seemed to Frank that they could go no farther in this direction, until Pierre urged his horse upon a narrow ledge that ran around the base of the cliff. Antoine followed after the pack-horse, and Frank came next. Roderick pricked up his ears, looked over into the gorge, and snorted loudly. He moved very slowly and carefully, and well he might: for a single misstep on his part would have sent both him and his rider to destruction. The path was so narrow that, although Roderick walked on the extreme outer edge, Frank's feet now and then brushed against the rock on the opposite side. Our hero felt his sombrero rise on his head, whenever he looked into the chasm, or allowed himself to reflect how slight an accident might launch him into eternity. But there was no backing out. Once on that ledge, a person must go forward; for there was no room to turn around.