"An' now for the riskiest part of our job, the one that counts the
most," said the Panther, "the one that will make everything else a
failure if it falls through. We've got to secure the prisoners."

The captives were lying under the boughs of some trees about twenty
yards from the spot where the fire had been built. The pitiless rain had
beaten upon them, but as far as Ned could judge they had gone to sleep,
doubtless through sheer exhaustion. The Panther's plan of action was
swift and comprehensive.

"Boys," he said, "I'm the best shot of us three. I don't say it in any
spirit of boastin', 'cause I've pulled trigger about every day for
thirty years, an' more'n once a hundred times in one day. Now you two
give me your rifles and I'll set here in the edge of the bushes, then
you go ahead as silent as you can an' cut the prisoners loose. If
there's an alarm I'll open fire with the three rifles and cover the
escape."

Handing the rifles to the Panther, the two slipped forward. It was a
grateful task to Ned. Again his heart swelled with wrath as he saw the
dark figures of the bound men lying on the ground in the rain. He
remembered the one who was youthful of face like himself and he sought
him. As he approached he made out a figure lying in a strained
position, and he was sure that it was the captive lad. A yard or two
more and he knew absolutely. He touched the boy on the shoulder,
whispered in his ear that it was a friend, and, with one sweep of his
knife, released his arms.

"Crawl to the chaparral there," said Ned, in swift sharp tones, pointing
the way. "Another friend is waiting at that point."