There was no astonishment or terror in his voice this time. His favorite expression was uttered in a tone of triumph. Things looked exceedingly dark for Archie now, for he was lying on his back in the middle of the floor, Beppo was kneeling on his breast, and the stable was echoing with his lusty calls for assistance. Archie was greatly astonished, but he was not frightened. He was as cool as a cucumber.
“That’s your game, is it?” said he. “I wouldn’t be afraid to wager King James against any mustang in the country, that it won’t succeed, for you’ve got hold of a Yankee now. I’ll open your eyes for you, in about a minute.”
Archie had come to believe, with Dick Lewis and Bob Kelly, that there was not a Mexican in the world who possessed the least particle of courage; and consequently he did not watch his prisoner as closely as he ought to have done. Although Beppo was very much terrified at the sight of the pistols, he kept his wits about him, and while his captor was talking to him in his free-and-easy way, the young Mexican’s mind was busy with plans for escape. While Archie was exchanging his jacket and sombrero for those belonging to Beppo, the latter thought he saw a chance to turn the tables on him.
Archie had a peculiar way of putting on a coat. He thrust both arms half way into the sleeves, then threw the coat over his head, straightened out his arms, and gave himself a shake or two to settle the garment into its place. It was when he had got the jacket about half way on, and both his arms were fast in the sleeves, that Beppo sprang forward like a young tiger, and catching him around the body, threw him to the ground. He accomplished this with so much ease, that he thought he was sure to win a decided victory.
“Give up that pistol,” said he, savagely. “I’ve got you now.”
“That remains to be seen,” replied Archie, with a coolness that astounded the Mexican. “There’s no knowing who is governor until after the election.”
Archie, although taken at great disadvantage, struggled desperately, and to such good purpose that he succeeded in freeing his arms from the jacket; and then the matter was quickly decided. Beppo was turned over on his back in a twinkling, and Archie, holding him down with one hand, drew the lantern toward him with the other, and extinguished it; for he heard footsteps approaching. Beppo’s cries had reached the ears of some of the people of the rancho, and they were hurrying to his assistance. He would have continued to shout for help, but the cold muzzle of a pistol, which he felt pressed against his head, restrained him.
Archie did not know what to do now. His first impulse was to spring up and take to his heels; but, if he did, what should he do with his prisoner? He might have compelled him to accompany him in his flight, but Beppo was a clumsy fellow, and having no reasons for wishing to conceal his movements, he would, no doubt, make noise enough to guide the Rancheros in the pursuit. If Archie left him behind, he would begin shouting for help again; and if he had not already alarmed every one on the rancho, it would not take him long to do so. The only plan he could think of was to remain with his captive, and keep him quiet by threatening him with his pistol, trusting to the darkness to prevent his discovery.
“Don’t dare open your head,” said Archie, fiercely.