“At sight of the two disreputable, grimy-looking men who had two magnificent, blooded steeds with costly trappings, Tally immediately realized that he had a couple of old horse-thieves with whom to deal. Evidently the rustling of the burros with their well-filled packs was the means of sustaining the rascals for a longer time in these forest fastnesses. But Tally despises a horse-thief!
“A full-blooded Indian, descended from a line of famous guides in the Rockies, such as Tally is, becomes cool and considerate in times of need. Here were two desperate outlaws, with the goods for evidence, and here was one young Indian.
“Tally kept behind a tree and watched till the man had finished hobbling the two horses and was returning to his pal at the camp fire. The three burros, Tally noted, were almost between himself and the two thieves. He might spring across the space and screen himself behind the little fellows, but he wanted to deliver the pack-animals alive to his Boss. If he used them as a shield they would be certain to be used as a target by the men.
“After carefully studying the camp-site, Tally decided to skirt the clearing and make his attack from a point much nearer the men. He wished to surprise them, and not give them a chance to get their hands on their guns. Therefore he started to creep noiselessly through the bushes, but the wise little burros must have sensed the presence of a friend, if the wagging of their long ears, and the bright eyes watching the woods where the guide was hidden, proves it.
“As if fortune favored Tally somewhat, one of the men now said: ‘You get some more wood, Ben. Ain’t got ’nuff here to cook nawthin’.’
“‘You go see what grub them packs is got, whiles I k’lect the kindlin’s,’ replied Ben, starting for that part of the woods where Tally waited, hiding behind a pine.
“At the same time, Ben’s partner went for the burros, his thoughts so engrossed on the desirable items of food he was sure to find in those bulky packs, that he paid no attention to his pal.
“Ben, watching where he stepped, loped from the clearing into the dense growth of trees and brush; then, unexpectedly, he heard a faint sound and looked up—into the cold steel muzzle of a Colt’s automatic revolver. He knew the game and, so, without uttering a sound, he threw up both hands. But in doing so, he tried to create a noise with his feet—a sound which might attract his companion’s attention.
“‘Better not!’ hissed Tally, keeping the gun directed at the fellow’s head while fumbling in his shirt for the rope he had thought to thrust there in case of need.
“‘Keep hands over dat head, onless you lak eat bullets,’ was the guide’s cool warning; then, from behind the man, he deftly tied his arms together, and pulled him up to a tree to bind him securely to that stanchion.