"One to us, señor!" sang out Pietro. "The gun which Giono promised is mine, or yours, if you wish to have it. Now for the other part. Give me a bolas, and I will take up my station. Better still, let me have six of the coils, then I can cast them without waiting. Let all the rest stand behind the firers. Come, comrades, time is getting along."
He took six of the bolas and went off with a swagger which he had not possessed five minutes before. And a gallant fellow he looked as he strode away, for an open kindly face was not Pietro's only possession. He was some forty years of age, short and lithe, but for all that powerfully built. It was said of him that where all were experts with the bolas, and where all could ride from infancy and as if part of the horse, this Pietro could excel them all. He knew the life of the pampas, and he knew his fellow men. This foreman of the hands employed on the rancho was a good friend to Mr. Blunt, the partisan of the weaklings, and a man who loved fair play. He went to his station with the thongs of the bolas trailing out behind him, and with the fringes of his leggings fluttering in the breeze. Dudley and the others sauntered over towards the well, the men looking askance at Giono, while Dudley kept a cautious eye upon him.
"An ugly-looking beggar," he said to himself, "and boasts too much to like being beaten. I'll wager he's considering whether he shall not shoot me instead of the ball. Very well, my fine gentleman, I'll take rather more than good care to keep you in full view and well in front. Fellows have been shot in the back before now, and accidents will happen."
He watched the man as he fingered his revolver, and slipped his own into his pocket; but he was careful to keep the group of gauchos between him and Giono.
"He is angry," one of them whispered cautiously. "Giono is never beaten, or rather no man ever lives who defeats him. Better to let him win, señor. He is a bad enemy. He has killed many men."
"But he won't hurt me if I can help it," answered Dudley doggedly. "We'll see about this killing. But thanks, my friend, for your warning."
By now Pietro was in position, and could be seen with the bundle of bolas at his feet and one swishing in the air over his head. He was an expert thrower, and knew that he could cast the long plaited thong with such skill as to make certain of striking the tree beside the well. The leaden balls swinging in the air would fly direct, while the lighter one would drag behind. To attempt to strike it with a single bullet seemed madness, and yet it was not an impossible feat to a man with a quick eye and ready hand and one who knew his weapon. The man who had knack and steadiness might succeed, for the cast was a long one, and by the time the bolas reached a point opposite the group it would have lost a considerable amount of its momentum. Then it would pass by a little more than twenty feet away, making a correct aim less difficult than at first seemed possible. Still, when all was said in favor of the task, it was difficult enough, and raised doubts in the minds of both competitors. However, a faint heart would serve but badly, and Dudley entered upon this part of the contest with the same coolness and calm self-possession which had already roused the ire and jealousy of his opponent.