e boys stood alone on the card-strewn, coin-littered battle-ground.
Dismay was pictured on their countenances. The crucial moment had
come, and they were fairly caught in a trap from which there seemed to
be no possible means of extricating themselves.

"Come on, boys," cried Bob Harding, who had quite recovered his
equanimity, "here's your friend Ramon, now."

He hastened off, not even looking to see if the supposed adventurers
were following him. Suddenly, while the three lads stood regarding one
another, there came a high-pitched voice ringing clearly above the
confusion and shouts:

"You consarned yaller coyote, you take yer leathery lunch-hooks off me,
or I'll fill yer so full uv holes your ma can use you for a collander!"

"Coyote Pete!" exclaimed Jack. "Oh, boys, he's all right!"

"Oh, Jack! What are we going to do?" gasped Ralph, pale under his coat
of tan, and looking about him nervously.

"We must act quickly, whatever it is," exclaimed Jack. "Thank
goodness, Coyote Pete is safe. The professor must be all right, too,
then. Look, there are the Mexican's horses off yonder. Let's make a
dash for them, and try to sneak out while they are still looking for
us."

"Do you think we can do it?" Ralph's voice was full of hesitancy.

"If we don't, we'll all be lined up with a firing squad in front of us
within the next ten minutes!" exclaimed Jack. "Hark!"

They could hear shouts and angry cries, above which Ramon's voice
sounded, as if he were narrating something.

"He's telling them about us," cried Jack. "Come on; there's not a
fraction of a second to lose."

Headed by Jack, the three Border Boys started on the run for the grove
in which the horses had been picketed. Some of the animals were
saddled and bridled, and for these they made a dash. They were not to
escape without some difficulty, however, for, as they placed their feet
in the stirrups, preparatory to swinging into the high-peaked saddles,
a dozing trooper sprang up from a litter of opened hay-bales. He
shouted something in Spanish, and made a spring for the head of the
animal Jack bestrode. It was no time for half measures. The heavy
quirt, with its loaded handle, hung from the horn of the saddle. With
a quick movement, Jack secured it, and brought the loaded end down on
the fellow's skull. He fell like a log, without uttering a sound.

"Now, forward boys!" cried Jack in a low tone, "it's a ride for life."

The others needed