By this time the “pigeon” was almost black in the face and half senseless.
Deland turned his attention to the sky, and to that floating smoke cloud, as soon as he could do so. Just then a few drops of rain spattered in his upturned face.
It was but a natural phenomenon, of course, but Deland was ready to ascribe that spatter of rain to the effect of his exploding rain bomb. He yelled with glee, and stretched out his hands, calling on Denton to witness that it had actually rained.
“Denton,” he cried, “if I should send up enough of them things, I could drownd the world, same’s it was in ther days of Noah. Did you notice that beautiful sprinkle?”
Denton was paying attention to the prisoner.
The spy gurgled and coughed, wriggled about, but was helpless. Then he recalled that bright thing which had startled him by flashing with a hissing roar past his face, and his tumble out of the tree. He lay back on the ground, groaning. Then his face brightened, for he realized that he had not played in such bad luck, after all.
The command of Panther Pete was for him to intercept one of the pursuing parties, let that party capture him, and then offer to lead it to the hidden home of the outlaws; when Panther Pete would have a force ready to wipe the said pursuers out.
Deland came back from the clouds, and gave some attention to his prisoner.
“Who aire ye, and what was you doin’ there in the tree?” he demanded; a thing which Denton had demanded already.
“I’m Bill Hatfield,” confessed the rascal, sure they had never heard his name before. “I’m a peacerble citerzen.”