Away darted half a dozen of the men around the circle.
“Found!” came to Frank’s ears, as they came upon a tall redskin who was standing erect by a big bush, his teeth tightly clenched, his copper-colored face half bleached, and an expression of agony on his features.
His fingers were closed around one of the wires, and his most strenuous efforts failed to disconnect the electrical attachment.
The guard had done its duty, and the young inventor was triumphant and full of glee.
“Grab him, and take away his weapon,” he commanded.
Half a dozen hands seized the redskin and disarmed him.
He belonged to the party that had chased the prospectors.
As soon as the rascal was secured, Frank disconnected the wire by means of a switch, or cut-out, and with a deep groan the red man’s hands unclasped and fell heavily to his side, and he was carried to the camp-fire.
“What do you think of the electrical guard, now?” demanded Frank Reade.
“That it is a credit to the inventor of the Steam Horse,” said the man who had doubted its efficiency. “The prisoner is your property. What will you do with the rascal?”