The Gulch Tiger ground his teeth with rage, and roundly cursed the accident which had diverted his attention from his foe.
“Throw it over!” continued the lyncher, sternly. “One—two—”
Accompanied by a fierce brigandish oath, and the flashing of a pair of evil eyes, the carbine disappeared over the brink of the precipice, and the boy heard the sound of its arrival on the stony road far below.
“That’s sensible; now the pistols.”
Another savage oath, and two large revolvers, drawn sullenly from the Tiger’s belt, followed the repeating rifle.
“They’ll hev a precious time hangin’ me,” thought Tom, as he shrugged his Atlantean shoulders and looked contemptuously at the youthful couple. “I hope they’ll try: I do so, by the eyes of the gods! Then my weapons will hev company down thar.”
“I tell you I’m ready,” ejaculated the Canyon King as if becoming impatient. “If the court always hangs, here’s the primest subject in Colorado. Call up the sheriff, jedge, an’ let the air-dance proceed.”
The boy’s eyes wandered to the edge of the cliff.
“I’m not prepared to hang at this moment. In fact you have caught me without a rope, Tom Terror. But perhaps there is one handy. I’ll send you after it.”