Red Rogers, he saw, was sitting about a yard from the edge of the plateau, while his companion was some ten feet to his left, both intently searching the land below for a glimpse of any pursuers.
"Red Rogers may think he's rendered us powerless, but I'll show him the only time a Mounted Scout is powerless is when he's dead!" muttered Jennings to himself.
And, as he spoke, he put his plan in operation.
With infinite stealth, he rolled to his side, then turned completely over, and, when he looked at his captors again, he was a foot nearer the notorious outlaw.
Slowly, cautiously, he rolled nearer and nearer.
How desperate his scheme of hurling Red Rogers to his doom was can be realized from the fact that, were it successful, the bandit would probably clutch and drag the scout over the edge of the plateau with him, or, if the rattle of a stone or a glance backward betrayed his purpose, a bullet would doubtless be the penalty for his daring.
But the danger did not daunt Jennings.
"It's for the good of the Service," he bravely told himself.
At last, scarce a yard separated him from his victim.
Determined to risk all on a final roll, the scout summoned his strength and turned over and over with increasing rapidity.