“Two or three wounded—not bad neither. Chane has got a stab in the hip—he gin the feller goss for it. Let me louze the darned thing off o’ your neck. It kum mighty near chokin’ yer, Cap’n.”
Bob proceeded to unwind the noose end of a lazo that, with some six feet of a raw hide thong, was still tightly fastened around my neck.
“But who cut the rope?” demanded I.
“I did, with this hyur toothpick. Yer see, Cap’n, it warn’t yer time to be hung just yet.”
I could not help smiling as I thanked the hunter for my safety.
“But where are the guerilleros?” asked I, looking around, my brain still somewhat confused.
“Yander they are, keepin’ safe out o’ range o’ this long gun. Just listen to ’em!—what a hillerballoo!”
The Mexican horsemen were galloping out on the prairie, their arms glistening under the clear moonlight.
“Take to the trees, men!” cried I, seeing that the enemy had again unlimbered, and were preparing to discharge their howitzer.
In a moment the iron shower came whizzing through the branches without doing any injury, as each of the men had covered his body with a tree. Several of the mules that stood tied and trembling were killed by the discharge.