We can't fight the whole party.
Have you a gun with you?"
Jimmie nodded and laid a hand on his hip.
"I am unarmed," the other said, in a minute, "and so couldn't
do much in a fight; so, perhaps I'd better go down and bring
up the guards."
"Just the thing," whispered Jimmie. "I'll remain with this
gang of bandits and manage to leave a trail that can be followed
if they leave the place. Go on down an' bring the guards. And," he
added, a half smile on his anxious face, "don't forget to bring your drum."
"My drum!" repeated the other, in amazement. "What is the good
of bringing a drum, I'd like to know?"
"Bring it, anyway," directed Jimmie. "If you hear a shot up here,
play it to beat a band. Beat it for keeps. Rattle off a charge,
and make a noise like a regiment of cavalry. And if you can't
make good time climbing down, slip on a rock an' roll down.
Somethin' must be done quick!"
"I don't believe they will shoot him," the drummer said, tentatively,
hesitating for an instant.
"If that big lobster gives the order to do it," Jimmie said, his eyes
flashing, "I'll get him before the order can be obeyed. They may get
me after that, but I'll have the satisfaction of knowin' that I got to
him first. Now, run!"
The dawn was strong in the east when the drummer disappeared down the
side of the mountain. It had been an eventful night, a long one to
the boy standing there watching for an opportunity of making his
presence known to the prisoner.
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