He would not have to dangle from that
swinging rope, at any rate.
"Hello, pard!" Dade's voice called thickly from close behind. "Looking
for some rope?"
Jack turned his head just as the looped rawhide slithered past him and
settled taut over the head of the startled buckskin. Like a lightning
gleam slashing through the dark he saw Dade's plan, and played his own
part unhesitatingly.
Two movements he made while the buckskin sat back upon his haunches
and gathered his muscles for a forward spring. The first was to lean
and send a downward sweep of the dagger across the rope by which
Shorty was leading the horse, and the second was a backward lunge that
drove the knife deep into the bared throat of the Captain, stunned
into momentary inaction by the suddenness of Dade's assault.
The buckskin gave a mighty leap that caught Shorty unawares and
sent him into a crumpled heap in the sand. Dade's riata, tight as a
fiddle-string at first, slackened as the buckskin, his breath coming
in snorts, surged alongside. Jack leaned again--this time to snatch
the ivory-handled revolver from the holster on Dade's saddle. As well
as he could with his legs held rigid by the rope that tied his ankles,
he twisted in the saddle and sent leaden answer to the spiteful
barking of the guns that called upon them to halt.
[Illustration: He twisted in the saddle and sent leaden answer to the
spiteful barking of the guns.
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