“But he can’t ride with his hands behind his back like that,” objected Dick.
“Oh, yes, he can,” grinned Pierre. “Ze good horseman ride wid his knees, and most of ze road you can be by his side and hold him on. And it is ze only way, for ze key, as I have said, is gone.”
“I suppose we’ve got to accept the situation,” said Dick, with a glance at Sharkey’s lugubrious countenance. The man of strength was obviously crestfallen at his almost ridiculous plight of powerlessness.
Pierre resumed his instructions. “You will not go back to Comanche Point, but will take ze mule trail down into ze valley. You know it, Mr. Willoughby—it is about one mile furzer on.”
“I know it,” replied Dick.
“You will leave Mr. Sharkey at the rancho and zen ride to ze place where your friends are waiting for you. Now, zat is all. I must go. We have already said our adios, my dear young friend.” Dick grasped the proffered hand and warmly pressed it.
“Good-bye, Pierre. I can never thank you enough for all you have done for me. Good-bye.” Leach Sharkey was assisted into the saddle, and the horsemen started on their way.
“Good-bye,” shouted back Dick Willoughby, yet once again.
“Adios!”
And as the two figures disappeared around a bend, the Frenchman uttered a deep sigh. “A splendid young fellow! I wonder shall we ever meet again!”—this was the thought in his mind as for just a moment he stood in an attitude of deep dejection.