When he lay down to sleep, therefore, he had clutched the precious Marlin as though he meant to make it his bed fellow.
While he slept, however, in tossing about uneasily, as men are apt to do when suffering from a wound, for Big Gabe’s conscience never troubled him the least bit, he had lost something of his grip on the gun. It was now lying close to his person, but was not in his grasp.
It was possible by a deft movement, to lift the weapon without disturbing the sleeper; and this was just what Amos meant to do.
When Dolph saw Amos thrust out an eager hand toward the gun, he thought he should almost smother, and there was a ringing in his ears, as though all the blood in his body rushed to his head.
And when the weapon was actually lifted, and clutched in the hands of the backwoods boy, Dolph felt ready to almost swing his hat and shout for joy.
Now things were beginning to look somewhat more rosy.
Big Gabe was shorn of his power; for even should he awaken at this juncture, it would be to hear a steady voice demand that he hold his hands up, and find himself staring into the black and threatening tube of that reliable repeater, with the determined face of Amos pressed against the stock.
Where would his forlorn old-fashioned Winchester be then, with a relay of six shells to back the boy in his demand?
In that moment Dolph felt that the game was as good as won.
They might still have few minor difficulties to overcome, especially if the two men happened to awaken before Amos quitted the camp. But on the whole it looked as though a positive end had been put to Big Gabe’s wonderful scheme to capture the millionaire’s son, and hold him for ransom.