“Through the skylight we can see that the baroness has evidently abandoned all effort to move the baron, and is on her knees in the corner, apparently in prayer. The baron is walking up and down the cabin floor flourishing a cocked revolver, and muttering to himself. The first officer with three gunners, each with a Winchester rifle, are at the skylight with sites drawn on the baron, anxious to fire as soon as they get the order, and six men with a piece of timber are in place, ready to burst open the cabin door. It is only twelve minutes to the blow-up, sir, and the men are getting uneasy. Shall we shoot and rescue the lady, sir?” “Not yet, captain. Can you open the skylight from above noiselessly?” “Yes, sir.” “Do so at once.” With his noosed rope coiled in hand, Morning approached the skylight. Often in Colorado he had, from love of sport, attended rodeos and learned the trick of the lasso. His skill with it was the admiration of the cowboys. “Kin Dave Morning handle a riata?” said one of his enthusiastic admirers to a correspondent of an Eastern newspaper. “Well, stranger, I should smile! Kin he? He kin throw his lariat a matter of forty feet around any part of a jumping steer, hoof or horn. He kin throw a bull buffalo at the head of the herd. He kin make a buckin’ broncho turn two somersaults, and land him on head or heels, just as he likes. He kin stop a jacksnipe on the wing if he don’t fly too high. Oh, I’m talkin’ to ye, stranger! Often I’ve seen him, when he felt right well, throw his little lasso across the room of the big hotel at Trinidad, and smash a fly on a window pane without breaking the glass. Oh, you can laff, of course! I ain’t got nothin’ agin your hilarity, but if any gentleman feels inclined to doubt the entire truth of anything I’ve been a sayin’, or has anything to say agin Dave Morning, either as a vaquero or a man, he kin get his gun ready, for my name is Buttermilk Bill from the San Juan Range.” Poising his improvised riata, Morning looked down through the open skylight. The baron, attracted by the shadow, stopped in his nervous walk and looked up. As he did so the noose dropped over his head and shoulders, and pinioned his arms to his side, and he was thrown to the floor, while the cocked pistol he held in his hand was harmlessly discharged. Like a cat, Morning dropped from the skylight upon the floor of the cabin, followed by the first officer and the gunners, all of whom proceeded—none too tenderly—to wrap and tie the rope around the arms and legs of the baron. “Now, then,” sounded the voice of the second officer outside the cabin door; “now, then, my hearties, once, twice, thrice, and away!” and, with a crash, the door flew from its hinges nearly across the cabin. Morning half supported and half carried the baroness to the launch, which was now lying alongside with steam up, and they descended to the deck, followed by the crew and officers of the _Esmeralda_ and the crew of the boat from the _Siva_.