Suddenly a figure on a black horse rode into the little clearing. It was Ramon himself. Without the slightest hesitation Coyote threw up his rifle to his shoulder, and, disregarding his own danger, fired point blank at the outlaw leader.
But for once Coyote Pete’s aim was at fault. Ramon was not even scratched by the missile.
“Gosh!” exclaimed Pete, “I begin ter think thar is suthin’ in that story that he bears a charmed life arter all. I had a plum bead on him and——”
In his astonishment at his missing such an easy shot, the cow-puncher had not noticed several forms creeping through the dark woods behind him. Before he had a chance to defend himself, he was dealt a mighty blow on the back of the head by a “clubbed” rifle in the hands of one of the outlaws whose head was encircled by a big bandage.
“Take that for the blow you struck me at the rancho,” grunted the fellow, as Pete, spreading his arms, fell forward like a stunned ox. The man who had dealt the blow was the same whom Pete had knocked off the ladder on that memorable night at the lonely rancho.
“Pick him up and place him with the others,” ordered Ramon, without the slightest trace of any emotion whatever showing on his copper-colored face.
This order was swiftly carried out, and the consternation of the others may be imagined when they saw the cow-puncher’s lanky form being carried by two of the raiders. They had heard the shots and at first they feared that Pete was dead, but to their relief, the next minute, they overheard Ramon remark:
“Throw him upon his horse when you bring it up. He’ll be all right in a short time.”
Presently the boys, with eyes that flamed with indignation, saw the Mexicans leading up their stock, not forgetting the pack burros, whose burdens had been hastily hitched on.