Suddenly I saw a big blue revolver lying on a stone and I could even catch
the glint of brass shells in the cylinder. It was not close to Bud nor so
very close to Greaser. If he should drop the lasso! A wild idea possessed
me--held me in its grip. just then the stew-pot boiled over. There was a
sputter and a cloud of steam, Greaser lazily swore in Mexican; he got up to
move the stew-pot and dropped the lasso.
When he reached the fire I bounded up, jerking the lasso far behind me. I
ran and grabbed the revolver. Greaser heard me and wheeled with a yell. Bud
sat up quickly. I pointed the revolver at him, then at Greaser, and kept
moving it from one side to the other.
"Don't move! I'll shoot!" I cried.
"Good boy!" yelled Dick. "You've got the drop. Keep it, Ken, keep it! Don't
lose your nerve. Edge round here and cut me loose. . . . Bud, if you move
I'll make him shoot. Come on, Ken."
"Greaser, cut him loose!" I commanded the snarling Mexican.
I trembled so that the revolver wabbled in my hand. Trying to hold it
steadied, I squeezed it hard. Bang! It went off with a bellow like a
cannon. The bullet scattered the gravel near Greaser. His yellow face
turned a dirty white. He jumped straight up in his fright.
"Cut him loose!" I ordered.
Greaser ran toward Dick.
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