“O, if I only had my rifle, or one of my pistols!” cried Frank, “wouldn’t I tumble that villain in a hurry?  Or if I could find a club, or could loosen one of these stones”—­

Frank suddenly remembered that he held in his hand a weapon quite as effective at short range, when skilfully used, as either a rifle or pistol.  It was his lasso; and, until that instant, he had forgotten all about it.  Then the blood flew to his cheeks; his power of action returned, and his arms seemed nerved with the strength of giants.  How thankful was he, then, that his desire to become as expert as his two friends, Johnny Harris and Dick Thomas, had led him to practice with that novel weapon.

With a bound like an antelope he started toward the struggling men, swinging his lasso around his head as he ran.  Pierre, believing that he had left Frank securely bound, and being too intent upon taking care of his new prisoner to look for enemies in his rear, heard not the sound of his approaching footsteps, nor did he dream of danger until the noose, which, but a few moments before, had been around Frank’s neck, settled down over his own.  Then he knew that his game was up.  With a piercing cry of terror he sprang to his feet, and, with frantic haste, endeavored to throw off the lariat; but Frank was too quick for him.

“Aha!” he exclaimed, trying to imitate the tone in which the Ranchero had spoken that same word but a few moments before.  “Aha!  Now I am going to break one of two things—­your spirit or your neck; I don’t care which.  One good turn deserves another, you know.”

As Frank said this, he threw all his strength into his arms, and gave the lasso a vigorous jerk, which caused Pierre’s heels to fly up, and his head to come in violent contact with the pavement of the court.

“Now, then, Uncle James,” exclaimed Frank, “we’ve got him.  No you don’t!” he added, as the Ranchero made a desperate attempt to regain his feet; “come back here!” and he gave him a second jerk, which brought him to the ground again.

Frank was blessed with more than an ordinary share of muscle for a boy of his age; but he could not hope to compete successfully with a man of Pierre’s size and experience, even though he held him at great disadvantage.  The Ranchero, as active as a cat, thrashed about at an astonishing rate, and, before Frank knew what was going on, he had cut the lasso with his knife—­an action which caused our hero, who was pulling back on the lariat with all his strength, to toss up his heels, and sit down upon the rough stones of the court, very suddenly, while Pierre, finding himself at liberty, jumped up, and ran for his life.

Mr. Winters had by this time regained his feet, and, catching up Frank’s rifle, which lay beside him on the pavement, he took a flying shot at the robber just as he was running through the archway.  Pierre’s escape was a very narrow one; for the bullet went through the brim of his sombrero, and cut off a lock of his hair.