Arthur had, by this time, somewhat recovered from his fright, though his face was still very pale, and he drew a long breath every now and then, when he thought of the dangers he had passed through.

“No,” he replied, to Johnny’s question.  “I never traveled much among the mountains.  It always makes my head dizzy, to look down from a height.”

“How, then, did you stand it,” said Archie, with a sly wink at his companions, “when you were perched upon the ’very top of the middle mast’ of your ship, looking out for whales?”

“Eh?” exclaimed Arthur.  “Why—­I—­you know”—­

Arthur was cornered.  He did not know how to answer this question, so he kneeled down by the spring, and took a drink, in order to gain time to reflect.  “I was obliged to stand it,” said he, at length, looking up at his companions.  “I couldn’t help myself.  I say, boys,” he added, desiring to turn the conversation into another channel, “you’ve got us into a nice scrape by your cowardice.  If you had followed me, those fellows would have been the prisoners now.”

At this moment the robber chief approached the group, holding in his hand a sheet of soiled paper and a lead pencil.  “Take these,” said he, handing the articles to Frank, “and write to your uncle, telling him how matters stand.  Say to him that you and your friends are prisoners, that I am going to take you where no one will ever think of looking for you, and that when I am paid eighty thousand dollars in gold, I will set you at liberty, and not before.  Tell him, further, that I shall send this note to him by one of my men; and that if he does not return in safety by sunrise to-morrow morning, I will make scare-crows of you.”

Frank picked up his saddle-bags, which he used as a desk, and, after borrowing the robber’s bowie-knife to sharpen his pencil, he began the letter, and wrote down what Pierre had dictated, using as nearly as possible the chief’s own words.

“That’s all right,” said the latter, when his prisoner had read the letter aloud.

“Now,” said Frank, “may I not add a postscript, telling Uncle James that we are well and hearty, and that we have been kindly treated, and so on.”

“Certainly; only be careful that you do not advise him to capture my messenger.”

Frank again picked up his pencil, and wrote as follows: 

“The above was written by Pierre’s command, and I have his permission to say a word for ourselves.  You need not pay out any money for Archie and me; and I know that if I was allowed an opportunity to talk to Johnny, he would send the same message to his father.  We are now in Pass Christian—­a difficult place to escape from, but we intend to make the attempt this very night.  Detain Pierre’s messenger, by all means; then send Dick and Bob with a party of men up here by daylight, and they can capture every one of these villains.”

That was what Frank added to the letter, but, when Pierre ordered him to read it, he made up a postscript as he went along; for he knew that if the chief were made acquainted with the real contents of the note, he would not send it.  The Ranchero did not know one letter from another, and he was obliged to rely entirely upon Frank, who read: