Jack Merrill and Walt Phelps followed Pete's lead in taking the situation calmly. As a matter of fact, it was the only thing to do, but small blame can attach to Ralph for sinking down despondently on some of the straw as he heard the bar clang as if proclaiming their doom. As for the professor, he was strolling about, poking the walls with an inquiring finger and gazing in rapt admiration at the blackened beams of the roof above them.
"Well, there's one thing to be glad over," said Jack suddenly, "they haven't tied us."
"No need to," rejoined Pete. "We couldn't get out of here in a week, and—— Hark!"
They all listened intently. Outside they could hear the steady tramp-tramp of a man pacing up and down.
"A sentry!" exclaimed Walt Phelps.
"That's what. We're too valuable to Black Ramon for him to have us get away."
There seemed to be some hidden meaning underlying the cow-puncher's words, and the boys looked at him inquiringly.
"What I mean is," said the cow-puncher, "that this varmint sees a chance to make some money out of us. He knows your father would give a pile to get you back safe and sound, and I'll bet a busted sweat-leather he's going to hold you for ransom."
"But you, Pete?"
"Wall, I reckon he'll make chile-con-carne out of me," rejoined the cow-puncher with a grin. "I'm too tough for anything else."