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He had all of an American's disgust of knife-fighting. "Oh, no not I," returned the little Mexican. "I do not use the knife. I am a servant, not a coward. But I had to throw a stone. I am thankful, senor, that my aim was good." Tom now discovered that blood was coming from a wound in Gato's head. Moreover, the rascal was beginning to moan. He would soon recover consciousness.
"Hand back my pistol instantly," hissed Don Luis. "Not until the fight is decided, Don Luis," Harry rejoined. Slipping the weapon into one of his own pockets he retreated a few yards. Suddenly Gato sprang, the knife uplifted. Tom Reade leaped in the same fraction of a second. Tom's shoulder landed under Gato's right shoulder, and the knife did not descend. Like a flash Tom bent as he wheeled.
In a very short space of time Gato's hands had been securely bound behind him. More cord was tied around his ankles, in such a way that Gato would be able to take short steps but not run. Suddenly Gato groaned and opened his eyes. "You'll be more comfortable on your back, old fellow," murmured Tom. "Wait. I'll turn you." Gato stared blankly, at first.
"If I should see Pedro Gato first, he would be likely to come in for another walloping," Tom laughed, dryly. "But you would not see him, senor. You would hear him only, and Gato's message would be a bullet." "Can Gato shoot any better than he fights?" smiled Reade. Bang! An unseen rifle spoke. Judged by the sound the marksman was not more than three hundred yards away.
"Do you know how to use this, senor?" Nicolas asked, as he passed over a small coil of stout hempen cord. "I think we can fix the fellow," Tom nodded. "Roll him over, Harry, and hold him. Don't let the scoundrel reach for any other weapons." Gato's rifle lay on the ground. Tom pushed it aside with one foot as Harry turned the fellow. "Get his hands behind him," muttered Tom. "I'll do the tying."
Gato's explanation about the mule-train had quieted the fears of the bandits as to the approach of troops. In some mountainous parts of Mexico the government's troops are nearly always on the trail of bandits and the petty warfare is a brisk one. "Go to sleep, my friends. There will be nothing to do until day comes." "Then, good Gato, take us somewhere off this road," pleaded one of the men.
Nicolas cowered and shivered before the baleful glare in the larger Mexican's eyes. But Tom took a savage grip of one of Gato's shoulders, digging in with his pressure until he made the scoundrel wince. "You'd better go slow with that talk, Gato," Tom warned him. "If you don't we'll turn you over to Nicolas to do with as he pleases." "All right," sneered Gato, not a whit dismayed.
"Displeased? Not a bit of it," muttered Tom. "But we didn't want you to get yourself into trouble on our account. Now, you've gone and written your name in Gato's bad books for certain." "I have, senor," the peon admitted. "Gato will take delight in cutting my throat for me one of these days." "Great Scott!" Reade gasped, shivering. "That's cheerful."
For one thing, though, it strikes me that our getting over the border, which is some hundreds of miles away, might be hindered if we have the tough luck to run into any of Gato's armed pals along this route." "You do well to remind me, senor!" cried Nicolas, in a low tone, but one, nevertheless, which was full of self-reproach.
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