He leaped from the saddle just in time to avoid being crushed as the pony crashed down in a dying heap. The boy had been riding off to one side of the Scouts when his pony was shot, and in the darkness not one of them seemed to have noticed that Rob was dismounted, for yelling and cheering, the chase swept on. "Well, I'm out of it," thought Rob dismally. "I hope they get them, though. I'd like----" "Up with your hands, and drop that rifle!" The command came out of the darkness behind him like a bolt out of the blue. Rob recognized that whoever had voiced the command meant business, and down fell his rifle with a crash, while his hands extended above his head. "Now I've got you where I want you," were the next words, coming in a vindictive voice from his captor. The next instant the speaker rode round the motionless Rob, and brought his pony to a halt directly in front of the boy. Despite the shrouding blanket and the waving feathers on the rider's head, Rob recognized his captor, with a thrill, as Clark Jennings. He was absolutely in the power of the vindictive ranch boy. CHAPTER XXII. CLARK JENNINGS GETS A SURPRISE. "Lucky thing for me my pony went lame and I had to drop out," muttered Clark Jennings triumphantly. "I've got a few things I want to say to you, Rob Blake." "You'd better say them quick, then," rejoined Rob. "I'm not overfond of your conversation." "Don't try to be fresh, young fellow!" warned Clark, raising his rifle menacingly. "I've got a corrective for back-talk in here." "But you daren't use it." "Don't be too sure." "Well, what do you want to do with me?" "All you have to do now is to obey, and obey pronto--see? Now march." "Which way?" "Toward the mountains." "Very well." Rob wheeled obediently, and began to march off, but already he had conceived a daring plan, and unexpectedly an opportunity suddenly presented itself to carry it out. As Clark Jennings swung his pony, the animal spied, lying on the bare ground, a gleaming white skull--the relic of some dead and gone steer. With a snort, he gave a wild sidewise leap that almost unseated Clark, practiced rider though he was. Rob heard the snort and the jump and Clark's sharp exclamation. In a flash his mind was made up. He wheeled like a streak, and bending down, grabbed his rifle. In far less time than it takes to tell it, the muzzle of the weapon was covering Clark Jennings's breast. "Drop that rifle, Clark!" The tables were turned with a vengeance now. But Clark Jennings, to do him justice, was no coward. Disregarding Rob's command, he instead raised his own rifle and aimed point blank at the lad. A stinging sensation cut through Rob's right shoulder and his muscles involuntarily contracted. His rifle was an automatic, and the "safety" slide was open. As Clark's bullet penetrated his shoulder, Rob's finger twitched on the light trigger. Bang!