CHAPTER XX.
WITH THE MEXICAN RANGERS.
Coyote Pete felt that he was passing through the most critical moments of his adventurous life. At the very least, he estimated the drop to the bottom of the gully must be several hundred feet.
Obviously it was impossible for him to extricate himself from the hurtling log, yet to remain in it was to doom himself to almost certain destruction. Yet, as the log shot down like an object dropped from a balloon, he realized that when it struck the earth he would be battered into annihilation.
But even in a situation which would have caused most men to swoon with terror, Coyote could think, and think coolly, too.
Suddenly, though, there came a sudden interruption to the downward progress of the great log with its human freight enclosed.
Crash!
Every nerve in Coyote Pete’s frame seemed to be ripped asunder. Every tooth in his head was jarred. He lay still, feeling pounded and stunned, like a boy who has just had a hard fight with some school tyrant.
“The log has landed, evidently,” he exclaimed, “but how? Where? Why aren’t I dead?”