“He’s gone, boys,” cried Jeems, sticking his head into the tent.
“Who’s gone?” they cried, simultaneously sitting up.
“The Mexican,” replied Jeems.
“How long?” cried Jim, getting outside of the tent in a jiffy.
“I haven’t been gone over five minutes, maybe eight, though,” he added reflectively.
“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” was Jim’s verdict.
“I’m glad we do not have to have him around anyway,” chimed in Jo.
“But how did the beggar get away?” inquired Juarez. “He was tied tight enough, I reckon.”
“Here’s the answer,” said Jim, stooping over and picking up a piece of rope that lay on the edge of the circle of the firelight.