With a will, the men obeyed and for the next few seconds the air resounded with the whistling of the rawhides as they sped to their goal.
“Great work!” exclaimed Ki Yi. “Now, Sam, place them under your arms.”
His fingers almost useless, so did the ranchman’s hands tremble with fear, the work was slow.
Seeing that if they were not to be balked in their rescue, quick action must be taken, Deadshot cried:
“Back to your pony, Ki Yi! Sling me your rope! Sam can never get the nooses under his arms by himself. I’ve got to help him!”
“But your weight added to his will be too much for the pony! It’s almost out of sight now!” protested Hawks.
“It’s up to you fellows to keep us from going down!” returned the cowboy. “Keep your wits about you and act quick—when I give the word!”
Never stopping to question his orders, Ki Yi had leaped back to his broncho, seized his lasso and cast it deftly over Deadshot’s shoulders.
Grasping the rawhide as it settled, the cowpuncher slipped it under his arms and then, summoning all his strength, jumped for the back of Bowser’s pony.
In breathless silence, the others watched.