As the flames subsided again, and the same gloom crept over the scene, the hideous creature stole up again, resolved to have the meal displayed so temptingly before him. Once more he was within reach, still advancing with jaws distended—ready to leap upon him. The boy slumbered dreamlessly on. Still nearer crept the wolf until Ned was at his mercy.

At this critical juncture, something whizzed from the upper surface of the rock, with the velocity almost of a bullet. It was a tomahawk, which, speeding true to its aim, struck the unsuspicious wolf fairly and with such terrific force that his skull was cloven in twain as completely as if smitten by the headsman's ax. There was scarcely time for the wild yelp as he tumbled over backward. But, such as it was, it aroused Ned, who sprang to his feet and gazed about him with an alarmed and bewildered air. Before he could fairly comprehend what had taken place he saw figures descending and approaching. It was too late to retreat. He was surrounded.

"I'm a goner now!" he muttered.

But as the firelight brightened, he saw the kindly faces of Tom Hardynge and Dick Morris.



CHAPTER XXXII.

REUNITED.

"How was it that you came to leave me for so long a time?" inquired Ned, after he had welcomed his two friends with boyish enthusiasm and congratulated himself upon his timely deliverance.

"Wal," replied Tom, as the three took up a comfortable position before the fire, "we started you off on that hunt on purpose to give you a little taste of buffaler huntin', calc'latin' to foller on after ye in the course of an hour or two. Afore we could do so, a war-party of a hundred redskins got right atween us—didn't you see 'em?"

"No such party as that."

"In course they shut us out altogether. The worst of it was, we exchanged a few shots back and forth with 'em, and they give us a brush; so by the time we had dodged out of their way, we was a long ways off from you. We couldn't do nothin' till mornin', and by that time the buffaloes and Injuns had trampled out your trail, so that there was nothin' to be seen of it, and we had to go it on general principles. We had 'bout made up our mind that some of the varmints had gobbled you, when we put eyes on this fire, and there ain't any use of tellin' any more."

The lad now in compliance with their request, related his entire experience since their separation. Old and veteran hunters as they were, and chary of praise as was their custom, they did not hesitate to compliment him highly upon the courage he had displayed in the most trying emergencies in which he was placed. His experience had, indeed, been a most remarkable one, and Providence had protected him in a wonderful manner.

Everything being understood, and the past cleared up, it now became them to look to the future. There were only two horses to three persons, and as there were no means of obtaining one, it became necessary to divide the lad between the two hunters—an arrangement which was easily made.

But, although it might seem that the greatest danger of the company had passed, the truth was, however, that the greatest was still before them, and both Dick and Tom knew it. They were pursuing a journey in an almost due south-westerly direction—precisely the course necessary to take in order to reach home, as they had come to look upon Fort Havens. But directly in their path was a broad level patch of country, interspersed, here and there, with rocks and vegetation, over which both the Comanches and Apaches were so constantly roaming that it would be impossible for a white man to cross it without being discovered by some of the war-parties.

When Dick and Tom were coming from the other direction, they were seen, and escaped only by the superior fleetness of their horses. But the trouble was that while they were not expected and not watched for then, now they were. The redskins were cunning enough to know that if two hunters rode at full speed through their country in the direction of Santa Fe, they would be very likely to return again in the course of a few days, and, as Dick said, the reds "would be ready for 'em." Consequently, it became not a question of fleetness; for, if it were, the hunters could afford to have very little apprehension over the result; but Tom Hardynge was well convinced that the Apaches, to the number of a hundred or more, were distributed at different points, and on the lookout for them. Indeed, he had already seen such evidence of the fact that it could not be doubted. He did not consider it necessary to tell their young friend all this, for he would learn it in due time.

Such being the case it would have been a waste of time for the three to remain where they were, while they had the sheltering darkness to screen them in their flight; but the two mustangs had done a good deal of traveling, and it was wise to give them the rest while it could be gained. Here were water and grass, of which the animals were taking the advantage. It was wise to husband their strength and endurance until the following day.

The hunters extinguished one camp fire entirely, and toned the other down so that there was no possibility of its attracting the notice of any one unless he passed very near at hand. Fortunately for Ned, they had some very good and substantial lunch with them, with which his hunger was fully satisfied. There still remained a little stock on hand, which was reserved more for him than themselves. They were accustomed to such privations and could stand it very well, but the lad was of too tender years not to suffer keenly.

The night was so far gone that no one attempted to obtain any sleep. The hunters went out and examined the dead grizzly, learning his dimensions by the sense of feeling alone. Tom picked up the tomahawk, and, wiping off the blade upon the grass, shoved it down in his belt, with the remark that it might come handy again before they reached Fort Havens. The two then made an observation for the purpose of learning whether any of the Indians were in the neighborhood. Nothing important was discovered, however, and in due time the night ended and the morning came again.

The sun was scarcely up when they were under way. Ned at first was placed upon the back of the mustang ridden by Dick Morris, and side by side, the two fleet-limbed creatures left the ridge and took the shortest route to Fort Havens. The gait was an easy, swinging one, which the horses were capable of keeping up from rise of morn until set of sun. The day was warm and sunshiny, but the air was so clear and pure that the oppressiveness was much less than would have been the case in a more northern latitude.

Beyond the ridge, the country remained open, as the prairie was inclined to be rolling than otherwise, but with a surface which permitted the utmost swiftness of which an animal was capable. Occasionally patches of wood and rocky elevations were discernible, but these were given a wide berth in all cases, as they were the very places where the treacherous enemies would have wished them to come. A herd of buffaloes, probably the same seen a short time before, was discerned far to the south, but they were passed by while still a long distance away.



CHAPTER XXXIII.

CLOSING IN.

The party pushed on until the greater portion of the forenoon was passed, when Ned was transferred to the back of Tom's horse. The lad had noticed that the hunters were acting in a strange manner, as though they were ill at ease, and were apprehensive that peril of some kind was approaching.

Dick Morris rode fully a hundred yards in advance of his comrade, and the motion of his head showed that there was no part of the horizon that was not under his surveillance. Tom was equally busy while riding in the rear. Neither of the hunters addressed a word to the other, but the boy detected a sort of telegraphy occasionally passing between them. They were working by a preconcerted arrangement, like corresponding parts of some machine, understanding each other so well that there was no need for explanation. The boy also used his to the best advantage possible, often turning his head and scanning the prairie and horizon, but not a single time did he discern anything that looked like Indians. Had he been alone, he would have journeyed serenely forward, certain that no danger of any kind threatened.

At noon, a brief halt was made as they struck the margin of a small stream, the water of which was rather warm and muddy, the buffaloes having probably disturbed it at some point above. The horses quaffed their fill, and upon the suggestion of Tom, Ned did the same. There was a good deal of significance when he uttered the words.

"It may be a good while before you get a chance at another."

It did not escape the notice of the lad, either, that both his friends filled to the full their old canteens, after which they repaired to one side, where they conversed for some time in low tones, and with such earnest, excited gestures, that it was plain they were in deadly earnest.

"I don't see why they keep everything from me," he muttered, as he observed this. "I think I've seen as big sights as they have for the last few days, and if there's any trouble coming, I wonder whether I haven't got to take my chance the same as them? But I'll let them alone till they get ready to tell me."

He was watching the two as they were talking to each other, when Tom beckoned to him to approach.

"There's no use of talkin'," said the hunter, in a low voice; "we're gettin' into the worst scrimmage of our lives. We're right in the middle of a dangerous tract. We've been seen by the Apaches and they're arter us."

"Why don't you wait until night and go through when they can't see you?"

The hunter shook his head at this seemingly reasonable query.

"The darkness is worse for us than it is for them. They can lay flat on the perarie and hear the sound of the hosses' feet a good deal further off than they can see 'em, and the scamps are so cunnin' they would have drawn us right into some ambush afore we'd knowed anythin' about it. No, we must try it with our eyes open and the sun shinin'."

"But what of it?" asked Ned, who did not see why their position need be looked upon as so critical. "Your mustangs are as fleet as theirs. How are they going to catch you?"

The whole difficulty was then made clear to the lad. If the Apaches were nowhere but in the rear, it would be an easy matter to give them the slip, but they were on the right and left, and in front, and signs that had been seen through the day indicated very clearly that the Indians were carrying out to the letter the plan of which the hunters had spoken, and which they dreaded so much. They had already surrounded them, the circle being quite a number of miles in diameter, and were now simply drawing in their lines.

This, as a matter of course, made a collision inevitable, unless the hunters could manage to steal between these redskins, and, by striking the open country beyond, place the entire company in their rear. Such a plan as this was scarcely possible of accomplishment.

If attempted during the daytime, it would be instantly detected by some of the redskins, who would notify the proper ones, when an immediate concentration would take place in front of the fugitives. If tried during the darkness of night, it would fail. The Apaches would take every imaginable precaution against it and there was no means of concealing the noise made by hoofs. By going on foot they could get through the lines without difficulty; but they could not commit the imprudence of leaving their horses. The situation, therefore, was critical. Tom made known two most important facts. The first was that beyond a doubt Lone Wolf was at the head of the whole enterprise, and they were likely to meet with this treacherous chief again. The second was that, in case they were driven to the wall, the hunters had determined upon taking refuge in a place known as Hurricane Hill.

"It's nothing more than a pile of rocks," added Hardynge. "I've been there before, and it's just the spot to make a desp'rit stand. Two men like us, if we can reach the right p'int, can keep a hundred of the redskins back."

"Won't they get there ahead of us?" asked Ned.

"I think not," replied the hunter, in that hesitating manner which showed that he had thought of the contingency before; "for the reason that I b'leve they'd like to have us run there; but, come, let's be off."

That the mustangs might be relieved, the lad was now taken on the back of Dick's, and the journey toward the southwest was resumed at the same sweeping gallop. Tom took the lead, carefully scanning the ground over which they traveled. For an hour all went well, and then he reined up his steed with startling suddenness.

"Look yonder!" he said, pointing to the south.

Glancing in the direction indicated, the boy saw a number of moving specks, apparently on the very horizon.

"Injuns," said Dick, in a low voice, although the boy scarcely needed the explanation to know they were their old enemies—mounted Apaches.

"Do you see 'em?"

"Yes."

"Now take a peep off there."

This time the hunter pointed exactly opposite, where almost precisely the same thing was visible.

"Now, I s'pose you understand how it all is? They've been keeping along with us all day, a little ahead, and all the time closing in a little. They've got things down to a dot, and mean bus'ness, you can bet."

"But are we anywhere near Hurricane Hill?"

"Yonder it is."

Several miles in advance, a dark, mound-like obstruction appeared against the sky. It was so far away that it was seen only indistinctly, but its character was evidently such as described by the hunter.

"Are you going for it?"

"We are."

And, suiting action to his words, they immediately broke into a gallop which was more rapid than before.

The situation, especially to the boy, became painful in its thrilling intensity. He required no telling to know that the dreaded programme described by his friends was being carried out to the letter. The Apaches were steadily closing in upon them, and it was evident that, if they chose to do so, they could effectually shut them out from reaching their vantage ground. Young Chadmund dreaded such a course upon their part. Somehow or other he had grown to look upon Hurricane Hill as their haven of safety. The few words of recommendation that Tom Hardynge had given it caused this belief upon his part. He did not pause to ask himself what was to be done after reaching it.

Suppose it could be gained in perfect safety, what then? If they should prove themselves fully able to keep a whole host of Apaches at bay, how was the siege to end? If the Indians should content themselves with merely waiting until hunger and thirst could do their work, what more? These questions naturally occurred to the men themselves, but it came back to Hobson's choice after all. And so they dashed ahead, gradually increasing their speed, while the Apaches, with the regularity of machine work, as gradually drew in upon them.

"Will they cut us off?" inquired Ned, when the chase had continued for some time.

"Guess not," replied Dick; "but it don't make much difference."

"Why not?"

"'Cause it begins to look as if they had a dead sure thing of it," said the scout, sententiously.

"I hope not—I hope not," said the trembling lad, who could only pray that Heaven would not desert them in the peril which was encompassing them on every hand.



CHAPTER XXXIV.

HURRICANE HILL.

While yet at a considerable distance, the full force of the Indians became developed. They were divided almost equally, fifty being on either hand, and their speed still remained such that the main portion kept ahead of the fugitives, with about half a mile intervening between them and their pursuers. It may have been fancy, but Tom Hardynge maintained that he was able to recognize Lone Wolf among the redskins on the right, and when a short time afterward Dick Morris emphatically asserted the same thing, it began to look as if the belief were well founded.

The sun was quite low in the sky, and the gait of the mustangs began to tell upon them. The two were galloping side by side, and going nearly at full speed. Both Tom and Dick were angry at being forced into such a position, which, to them, was a cowardly flight from a lot of wretches whom they despised and hated.

"I must give 'em my compliments," suddenly exclaimed the latter, when they were within rifle shot of each other. As he spoke, he raised his gun, and fired into Lone Wolf's band.

He seemed to take no aim at all, and, indeed, there was little necessity for it, as the Indians were so numerous and compact. A yell followed and then a commotion, showing very plainly that the shot had told.

"I reckon I'll try it again, it works so well," said Dick, repeating the demonstration, except that he aimed to the company on the left. He took a little more pains to guard against throwing his shot away and the result was similar to the first.

"Now we'll catch it," said the terrified Ned, crouching down beside the hunter, who like his friend was engaged in reloading his gun.

But there was no return fire. The Apaches, evidently, had concluded that they could wait. The shots, however, resulted somewhat advantageously for the fugitives, who, during the momentary confusion thus created, managed to crowd a little ahead. The horses were then put to a dead run and the final rush made for Hurricane Hill, the last refuge for which the fugitives could flee, seeing which, the Indians converged toward them, and made every effort to shut them off.

Although the hunters had apparently used their utmost endeavors up to this time, they had husbanded the strength of their animals so cleverly that their pursuers themselves were deceived, and when they expected to interpose themselves directly across the path, they beheld them flying like a whirlwind toward the rocks.

The few hundred yards remaining between the latter and Hurricane Hill were passed in a few seconds by the fleet-footed mustangs. Ned was fairly dazed by the bewildering rush of events, and hardly able to keep track of their order. He saw the hurrying warriors directly behind them, and the rough, cragged mass of rocks in front. The next moment he was off the mustang. The scouts had checked their beasts at the same instant at the base of Hurricane Hill, and, leaping to the ground, skurried up the steep incline by which its surface was reached. The feet of the lad did not touch the earth. Dick, who was slightly in advance, carried him under his arm as if he were an infant snatched up in haste, and the men bounded toward the top of the hill, the whole howling horde at their heels.

Hurricane Hill, it should be stated, was a pile of rocks about one hundred feet in diameter, with half that height. On one side a narrow path led upward at an angle of forty-five degrees, and, as it permitted only one to pass at a time, the place, with a few defenders, was impregnable against almost any force. This path upward was filled with loose, rattling stones, which sometimes made one's foothold treacherous, and it also made several curious turns, so that, after ascending a rod or so, one was shut out from the view of those upon the ground below.

The very instant this point was reached Dick Morris dropped the lad and exclaimed:

"Now run like thunder, and don't stop till you reach the top."

Then, wheeling about, he leaped back several paces to the assistance of Tom, who was defending the pass like a second Leonidas against the swarming warriors.

A huge, stalwart redskin, who probably believed his strength to be superior to that of the scouts, advanced boldly and seized him, with the evident purpose of drawing him down among the others and making him a prisoner in spite of himself. But he found he had made a slight miscalculation when he was lifted like a child from the ground and hurled over the heads and among the glowering redskins crowding below. The momentum of his body was such that a half dozen were forced backward and almost off their feet. Had the Apaches chosen to do so, it would have been an easy matter to have shot all three of the fugitives, or even two of them, and taken the lad; but they had some old score against Tom and Dick, which could not be wiped out by mere death alone. Now that such a fine opportunity was presented for securing them and indulging in all the luxury of torture, they were not the ones to throw away the chance. Hence, they persistently refused to fire and as persistently forced their way upward.

This check, which might have been simply temporary, was emphasized and made more permanent in its character by Dick, who at the critical moment seized a goodly sized rock, which he drove down among the wretches like the discharge from a fifty pounder. It made terrible work and the discomfited Apaches retreated tumultuously to the bottom, while the hunters hastened away again to the top of the hill. Ned was there awaiting their coming with the most painful misgiving about their coming at all. He knew from the uproar that a desperate fight was raging in the narrow pass, and he feared that the resentful Apaches would overcome the braver hunters, who were defending themselves so desperately. But there they were at last, with the announcement that their enemies had fallen back and a temporary peace was given them.

"Can't expect it to last long, howsomever," added Tom, who breathed scarcely any faster from his terrific exertions. "Them skunks are bound to swallow us whole, and we've got to kick hard to prevent it."

As soon as a little breathing time had been gained, the besieged made an examination of their immediate surroundings, to learn the probable form in which this business was likely to end. The hunters removed all superfluous articles from their persons,—in the shape of canteens and a few appurtenances,—like pugilists who are stripping for a fight.

The surface of Hurricane Hill was generally level, and free from the boulders and obstructions which one would naturally expect to find there, which Tom Hardynge explained by saying that they had all been rolled down upon the Indians below by parties who had been driven to this dernier resorte years before. The position of the three, therefore, was very much as if they were upon the extensive top of a tower which was reached by a narrow stairway, their province being to defend it against all comers.

For some time after the repulse of the Apaches, all remained quiet. Of course, they took charge of the two mustangs that the fugitives had been compelled to leave behind in their flight and then disposed themselves around the refuge, like those who had made up their minds to wait until the fruit dropped into their hands.

The afternoon was drawing to a close, and Ned naturally viewed the coming night with distrust. Darkness seemed to be the appropriate time for the fiends to work, and more than once he shuddered as he pictured in his imagination the merciless wretches swarming up the narrow path and spreading over the top, like the rush of waters when bursting up from some hidden fountain.

"All we've got to do is to keep our eyes open," said Dick, with a most reassuring manner. "If I could have plenty to eat and drink, with the privilege of sleeping a little now and then, I wouldn't want any better fun than to stay up here for a few months and crack their heads as they come up."

"Shall I do the watching to-night?"

"Not much," grinned Dick. "Tom takes the first half, me the last, and that's as good a way as we can fix it."

"And what shall I do to help?"

"Go to sleep as soon as it is dark, and don't wake up for three or four days—and even then you must not be dry or hungry."



CHAPTER XXXV.

THE SENTINEL.

Ned then understood why the two scouts had taken pains to fill their canteens at the brook during the day, and why, also, they so religiously preserved the little lunch still remaining in their possession. It was to guard against just such a contingency.

As the sun approached the horizon, the lad seated himself upon a rocky protuberance and looked off over the surrounding country. To the west, the blue, misty outlines of a moderately high range of mountains shut off all further view.

"Just beyond that," he said to himself, as he fixed his eyes upon the elevation, "Tom tells me is Fort Havens, where father is waiting for me. If he only knew we were here, he might come to our relief. Wouldn't he scatter the redskins down there? But I don't know how he will find it out. Oh! if we were only among those mountains, it wouldn't take us long to go the rest of the way. I suppose the fort can be seen from their top."

To the south, a stratum of yellow vapor stretched for forty degrees along the horizon. There were no buffaloes there, but there had been, and it was the evidence of their passage. To the north, the view was broken by ridges, patches of wood, and curious irregularities of surface, but there was no sign of life among all, nor could it be detected except by peering over the edge of Hurricane Hill down upon the assembled besiegers below. He noticed that Tom Hardynge, shading his eyes with his hand, was gazing off with a fixed intensity in the direction of the mountains which intervened between them and Fort Havens. He said nothing, but there was a significance in his persistency which aroused the curiosity of the lad in no small degree. Could it be that his keen vision detected something tangible toward the setting sun, which was hidden from view by the mountain range? Or was it the mere searching for something upon which to hang his hopes?

Dick Morris was very differently occupied, acting, indeed, as if unaware that anyone else was upon the hill-top besides himself. Crawling to the edge, he was stretched out flat upon his face, his hat removed, while he peered stealthily downward upon the crowd below. Probably, he, too, was searching for something or somebody. There was so much meaning in his actions that the interest of the lad centered upon him, and he watched every motion.

The hunter fidgeted around for a few minutes, as if his posture was not exactly comfortable, and then hastily projecting his gun over the margin, he took a quick aim and fired, and then flinging the weapon aside, looked down again to see the result. All at once, he sprang to his feet, and stamped back toward the center of the plateau, in a terrific rage.

"Ain't it awful!" he exclaimed, adding a forcible expletive. "Did I ever make a bigger mistake?"

"What do you mean, Dick?"

"Hit the wrong skunk."

"How is that?" asked Tom, turning toward him.

"I've been figuring around for half an hour so as to draw a bead on Lone Wolf, and just as I pulled the trigger, I found I'd hit the wrong one. It's trying to one's feelings to be disappointed that way."

"I don't b'leve you'll get a chance at him," said Tom, as he seated himself and resumed his patient scrutiny of the western horizon.

However the scout was not quite in despair, and, reloading his piece, he returned to his position and resumed his watch. But the mistake he had made operated against him in every way. It apprised the Apaches of their danger from this sort of sharp-shooting, and the whole force fell back, while Lone Wolf, who was shrewd enough to know that his life was in special demand, made sure that he was out of range of those fatal rifles. Besides this, it was rapidly growing dark, and before Dick could gain any kind of a chance at all, the light was too dim to afford him the indispensable aim.

The hunters showed a business-like manner of doing things. As soon as it was fairly dark, Dick Morris gave up his hunt for Lone Wolf, and, remarking that there would be no fun until the morrow, rolled over and away from the margin, and was sound asleep within ten minutes.

"You'd better do the same," said Tom to the lad, as he left him alone, and moved down the incline to the position he intended to occupy while acting as sentinel during the first portion of the night.

Ned remained up a considerable time, when, as there seemed to be nothing going on of an alarming nature, he concluded to step out and do the same, if he could control his nerves enough to do so. He was both hungry and thirsty, but not to a very great degree, and as his companions said nothing about eating or drinking, he made up his mind to wait until the morrow. It was about an hour before he became entirely unconscious, but when he shut his eyes they were not opened until morning.

Before that time, however, Tom Hardynge became involved in a little difficulty. The point where he located was about half way between the base and top of Hurricane Hill. Here the path made such an abrupt bend that it was easy to conceal himself, and still keep a sharp watch upon any one coming from below. It was the hunter's belief that an attempt would be made by the Apaches to steal upon them before morning; for, while their enemies were ready to wait three or four days, or as long as was necessary, yet it was to be expected that they would prefer to force matters to a conclusion as speedily as possible. If they could crowd up to the top of the hill and overwhelm the fugitives, they were willing to incur the risk of losing several lives that they might do so. Accordingly, when he assumed his position it was with the expectation that there would be something on the carpet before long.

Nor was he disappointed. For two hours not the slightest sound reached his ears, and then a pebble softly rattled down the incline below him. There might have been no human agency in this slight occurrence, as the loose debris was likely to do the same thing at any moment, but Tom believed that it was caused by the moccasin of an Apache stealing upward. He stealthily peeped around the edge of the rock, but nothing was to be seen. There was a moon in the sky, but its position was such that the path was thrown in shadow, and he could not have detected a man a dozen feet distant.

Fifteen minutes more passed and then the scout became certain that an Indian was stealing up the path toward him. It was a wonder how the thing could be done, without sending streams of gravel and pebbles rattling to the bottom. Hardynge straightened up, still peering around in the gloom.

The moments wore away and still he was able to detect that soft, faint gliding, as if a rattlesnake were getting into a position to strike its prey. By and by—yes, he could now make out the crouching figure approaching through the darkness and he drew back lest he should be seen. Nearer and nearer it drew, while he remained as motionless as the solid rock beside him. Finally, after great delay it stood opposite.

At the very instant it was passing the hand of Tom Hardynge shot straight out with lightning-like quickness and force, and the knife clutched in his iron-like grasp did its duty well. No outcry proclaimed the deed. There was only a gasp and all was over. The moment it was done the hunter straightened up and listened.

"Mebbe there's another behind him."

But the most patient, careful listening failed to detect anything, and, leaving the body lying where it had fallen, he went noiselessly to the top where Dick was sleeping. A gentle touch aroused the latter and he instantly rose to his feet. A few words told him all that had happened and then the two hurriedly discussed the scheme which had occurred to Hardynge a short time before. Two minutes only were needed for them to reach a conclusion.

"I'll do it," muttered Tom, as they arose and began picking their way down the path.



CHAPTER XXXVI.

A DESPERATE SCHEME.

The two scouts carefully descended until they reached the spot where the dead Apache lay. They moved as noiselessly as shadows until they stood directly by the inanimate form. Then, while Tom Hardynge began adjusting his outer garments, Dick Morris stooped over and drew forth the blanket which was crumpled beneath the dead warrior.

The Apaches and Comanches and different tribes of the southwest nearly always carry their blankets with them when traveling, and when this particular Indian essayed his perilous reconnaissance on a sultry summer night that garment was flung over his shoulders. These savages as a rule, do not wear their hair done up in the defiant scalp-lock form seen among their more northern kindred. It hangs loosely about their heads and shoulders, being ornamented with stained feathers, the hair itself frequently daubed with brilliant paint.

Tom gathered the blanket about him precisely as did the warrior, and then, his own cap being thrown aside, the feathers were stuck in among the tresses with all the skill of the veteran warrior. As he wore leggings the same as the redskin, his tout ensemble was complete. Beneath his blanket he carried his rifle, pistol and knife, and even took the tomahawk from the girdle of the fallen brave, and managed to stow that about his clothing. Even now the two comrades spoke not a word. They merely shook hands in a silent, cordial grasp, and almost immediately became invisible to each other. Dick remained where he was for several minutes, listening and looking, and then, hearing nothing, moved back toward his former position, muttering as he went:

"If anybody can get through 'em, Tom's the boy—but it's a powerful desprit scheme—a powerful desprit one!"

Reaching the top, he crawled again to the margin, and stretched out with his head partly over. Eye-sight was of no avail now, and he depended upon hearing alone, believing that by that means he would be able to learn the success or failure of the maneuver. But not until nearly an hour had passed did he begin to feel anything like a real hope that his comrade had succeeded.

In the meantime, Tom was doing his best. It was no easy task for him to pass safely through the Apache lines in the guise of an Indian. The redskins would be on the lookout for the return of their scout, and the ordeal through which he would have to pass would be a much more severe one than usual. But he was accustomed to desperate schemes, and ready for any sort of encounter. If discovered immediately, he meant to dash back again up the rocks; but if he could get any distance away, he would make a determined effort to elude his enemies altogether.

Following out his plan with the deliberation of a veteran, he stole slowly downward, consuming fully half an hour before he reached the base of Hurricane Hill. When, at length, he stood upon hard ground below, he was taken somewhat back by seeing no one near him.

"That's queer," he said; "what's become of the skunks?"

He had scarcely uttered the words when a tall form suddenly appeared at his side, coming up as if he had risen from the very ground.

"Do the hunters sleep?"

This question was asked in pure Apache, and Tom, somewhat distrustful of his own ability in that line, managed to muffle his blanket up in front of his mouth as he replied in the same tongue:

"They sleep not."

"Where is their scalps, Mau-tau-ke?"

"On their heads."

The warrior was no more than ten feet distant, and from the moment the scout detected him he began edging away, the Indian naturally following along while these words were being uttered, so as to keep within easy ear-shot. Upon hearing the second reply to his question, he paused, and Tom, dreading a betrayal, grasped the handle of his knife under his cloak, and was ready to use it on the instant. But the Indian remained standing, while Tom, still moving away in his indifferent manner, soon passed beyond his view.

"I guess he's stopped to think," was the conclusion of the scout, as he looked back in the gloom, "and it'll be some time before he's through."

But the trouble now remained as to how he should pass through the Apache lines beyond. If the redskins had any suspicion of any such movement, or if the warrior whom he had just left were suspicious, serious trouble was at hand.

The hunter sauntered aimlessly along, using his eyes and ears, and a walk of something over a hundred yards brought him up against a number of figures that were stretched out and sitting upon the ground, with several standing near at hand.

They showed no surprise at their "brother's" approach, and he was confident that, if they didn't undertake to cross-question him too closely, he stood a good chance of getting through. As they were gathered too closely at this point he made a turn to the right, and, to his amazement, not a word was said or the least notice taken of him, as he walked directly by. That was succeeding, indeed; but Tom was not yet ready to leave the neighborhood. He wanted his horse, Thundergust, and, once astride of him, his heart would be light as a bird; but in looking around he could not discern a single horse.

It would be useless to attempt to reach Fort Havens on foot. The Apaches would detect his flight by daylight, which was only a few hours away, and they could overhaul him before he could go any distance at all. No, he must have his horse, and he began his search for him. This was a delicate task; but he prosecuted it with the same skill and nonchalance that he had displayed heretofore.

He had stolen along for a short distance, when he descried some twenty horses corraled and cropping the grass, while a still larger number were lying on the ground. Was his own among them? he asked himself, as he stood looking in that direction, while he dimly discerned the figures of the warriors upon his left. Very cautiously he gave utterance to a slight whistle. There was no response, although he suspected it was heard by the redskins themselves. Then he repeated it several times, walking a little nearer the group of equines.

All at once one of their number rose from the ground with a faint whinney, and came trotting toward him. At the same time several Indians came forward from the main group, their suspicions fairly awakened by these maneuvers.

One of these suddenly broke into a run, as he descried the mustang trotting toward the warrior-like figure shrouded in his blanket. There was no doubt in his mind that something was wrong. The scout stood like a statue, as though he saw not the approach of the man or horse. The latter as if distrustful of the shape of things moved so reluctantly that the redskin beat him in reaching the goal.

"What means Mau-tau-ke?" he demanded, in a gruff voice, as he clutched his shoulder. "Is he a dog that—"

The poor Apache scarcely knew what disposed of him. It was with the suddenness of the lightning stroke, and, flinging back the dirty blanket that had enshrouded his form, the scout pointed his revolvers at the others, fired three shots, accompanied by a screech loud enough to wake the dead. Then, springing toward his mustang, he vaulted upon his back, wheeled about, and thundered away, like the whirlwind across the prairie.

This demonstration was so unexpected and so appalling that the Apaches were effectually checked for a time. Before they could recover, mount their horses, and start in pursuit, the fugitive was beyond their sight. It was useless to pursue, at any rate, for there was no steed among them all that could overtake the flying mustang, whose hoofs were plainly heard upon the prairie, rapidly growing fainter as the distance increased. In a few minutes it had died out altogether, and, ferocious as was the hatred of the redskins toward the hunter who had outwitted and injured them so often, no one made any effort to overhaul him.

Tom Hardynge, every few seconds, let out a regular Apache war-yell, intended as exultation, taunt and defiance. He could afford it, for he had triumphed as completely as heart could covet. The magnificent Thundergust instinctively knew their destination, and the reins lay loosely upon his neck as he sped away. He was aiming for Fort Havens. It was a long distance away, and many hours must pass before its flagstaff could be detected against the far-off horizon.



CHAPTER XXXVII.

THE TWO DEFENDERS.

Dick Morris, stretched out full length upon the top of Hurricane Hill, peering down in the impenetrable gloom, understood all that had passed. There was no mistaking that yell of Tom Hardynge; he had heard it many a time before in the heat of conflict, and it generally meant something.

"Go it, old chap!" he shouted, swinging his hat over his head, as he saw the whole thing in his imagination. "Them 'ere pistol-barks show there's been some bitin' done. Business is business."

He noted, too, the sounds of the mustang's hoofs growing fainter and fainter, until the strained ears could detect them no longer. Tom Hardynge had safely passed through the Apache lines. It was a daring and desperate feat indeed, but it had succeeded to perfection. Nothing now remained to hinder his flight direct to Fort Havens.

"I rather think somebody's mad," exulted Dick, who was fully as proud over the exploit of his comrade as was Tom himself. "There ain't much doubt but what there'll be lively times here before long. They know there's only two of us, counting in the little chap, and they'll make a rush. Let 'em do it. If they can get up by that corner where the other fellow dropped they're welcome, that's all."

And with this conclusion he left the top of the hill and picked his way down the path, until he reached the spot where he had parted from his comrade. Here he stooped down with the purpose of picking up the body of the warrior and flinging it down upon the heads of those below. To his astonishment, it was gone!

He searched around for several minutes, venturing to descend some distance, but it was missing.

"I don't think he could have got up and walked away," said the hunter, as he scratched his head over the occurrence. "No, it couldn't have been that, for Tom don't strike any such blows any more than I do."

It followed, then, as a matter of course, that after the discovery of the trick, some brother Apache had stolen his way up the path and removed the body, a proceeding which Dick Morris hardly suspected until he was really compelled to believe it.

"If I'd only knowed he was coming," he growled, "how I would have lammed him; but he's come and gone, and there ain't any use in cryin' over it."

He waited and listened carefully, and once or twice a slight rattling of the gravel caused him to suspect that some of the redskins were attempting to steal upon him; but if such were the case, they must have contented themselves by not approaching within striking distance.

Finally the night wore away, and the dull light of morning began stealing over the prairie. As soon as objects could be distinguished, he returned to his position upon the top of the rock and made his observations.

Little, if any, change was discernible in the disposition of the besieging Indians. Their horses were gathered at some distance, where the grass was quite rank. The warriors had assumed all the indolent attitudes which are seen in a body of men that have more time at their disposal than they know what to do with. They had shifted their position so far back that they were beyond good rifle range; for although a hunter like Dick Morris could have picked off a redskin nine times out of ten, yet he could not "pick his man." Lone Wolf had attired himself precisely as were the rest of his warriors, and at the distance it was impossible to distinguish him from them, so the scout wisely concluded to hold his fire until he could be certain of his target.

As soon as it was fairly light, Dick naturally turned his eyes off toward the southwest, in the direction of the hills, whither his comrade had fled during the night.

"He is gone," he muttered, when he had made certain that no object was to be seen. "I might have knowed that before I looked, 'cause the hoss knows how to travel, and Tom's made him do his purtiest."

"Hello! what's the news?"

The query came from Ned Chadmund, who had aroused himself from slumber, and was standing at his side.

"Where is Tom?"

"About fifty miles off yonder, goin' like a streak of greased lightnin' for Fort Havens."

"What?"

Whereupon Dick Morris explained. Of course the lad was astounded to think that all this had taken place while he was dreaming of home and friends, and he hardly knew whether to rejoice or to be alarmed at the shape matters had just then taken. True, Tom Hardynge was speeding away on his fleet-footed mustang for Fort Havens, but it would take a long time to reach there and return. There was something startling in the thought that a man and a boy were all that were left to oppose the advance of the force of the Apaches from below. What was to prevent their swarming upward and overwhelming them? Nothing, it may be said, but the strong arm of Dick Morris. He might have been a Hercules, and still unable to stem the tide, but for the vast advantage given him by nature in constructing Hurricane Hill. He could be approached by the enemy only in single file. Dick, however, was of the opinion that something of the kind would be attempted, for the Apaches could not but know the errand of him who had so nicely outwitted them.

"Ain't there some way of blocking up the way?" asked Ned, as they discussed the plan.

"I've been thinkin' it over, and there is," returned Morris, crossing his legs, and scratching his head in his thoughtful way. "Three years ago, me and Kit Carson had to scoot up here to get out of the reach of something like two hundred Comanches, under that prime devil Valo-Velasquiz. They shot Kit's horse, and mine dropped dead just as we reached the bottom of the hill, so we couldn't do anythin' more in the way of hoss-flesh.

"Them Comanches hated Kit and me like pison; they knowed us both, and they went for us in a way that made us dance around lively; but it was no go, and we tumbled 'em back like tenpins, but they kept things so hot that me and Kit tipped over a big rock in the path. Of course they could climb that easy enough, but it gave us so much more chance that they didn't try it often, and they fell back and tried the Apache dodge—waiting until hunger and thirst made us come down."

"How was it you got out of the trouble?"

"It was in a mighty queer way—a mighty queer way. On the next day arter the brush we had with 'em, a bigger party than ever came up, and we calc'lated things were goin' to be redhot. But as soon as the two parties jined, some kind of a rumpus took place. We could see 'em talkin' in the most excited way, and a high old quarrel was under way. Kit Carson knowed all about Injins, but he couldn't make out what all this meant. We was in hope they'd git into a wrangle themselves, and swaller each other, and I can tell you they came mighty nigh it.

"Just as it begun to look as if it was goin' that way, one of their chiefs walked forward, swingin' a dirty rag on the end of his ramrod as a flag of truce. Kit looked at him very closely, and then exclaimed that it was Quizto, a great rival of Valo-Velasquiz. They were always at swords points, and whichever happened to have the strongest party at his back when they met, outranked the other. The beauty of it all was that Quizto was a friend all his life to Kit Carson—a regular redskin friend, who was ready to scalp all his brothers and sisters if they tried to harm him—and when he came to learn that Kit was treed, he swore that he'd burn at the stake any Injun that laid a straw in his way.

"This made a time, and, as I's tellin' you, the biggest kind of a fight. At one time it only lacked a word to set it a-goin'; but Quizto's braves stood by him, every one, and the others had to knock under.

"When Quizto come forward with his flag of truce, he called out to Kit and told him that he was at liberty to go wherever he chose without harm; but as Valo-Velasquiz would be so disappointed, he thought Carson would turn over his friend, who wasn't of much account, that they might have the pleasure of torturing him to death. That was lovely for me, and you ought to have heard Kit laugh. He told Quizto that he couldn't do that—both would go or stay together. That made another wrangle, but the friendship of the chief to Carson saved the lives of us both. He wouldn't consent that the guide should run the least risk, and they told us to come down and clear out. We expected a big fight, for Valo-Velasquiz had some ugly men with him, and he was a regular devil himself; but when we got to the bottom, there was two mustangs awaitin', and we straddled 'em, and warn't long in leavin' those parts. Old Valo-Velasquiz and a dozen of his warriors tried to sneak along after us, but we was as well mounted as they, and we rode into Santa Fe without tradin' rifle shots with any of 'em. That was a strange thing, but," added the scout, significantly, "I don't think you've got any Quizto among them skunks down there."



CHAPTER XXXVIII.

HAND TO HAND.

The Apaches surrounding Hurricane Hill were more closely watched through the forenoon, for Dick more than once gave it as his opinion that they would make a rush before the day was over. To protect themselves as much as possible, the rock of which the hunter had spoken was forced into the passage-way, and an unremitting guard maintained, to prevent any sudden surprise.

It was near noon, when three Apaches were seen to leap upon their mustangs, one going north, another south and the third due west.

"Spies," explained Dick. "Lone Wolf is a little anxious about what Tom may do, and he sends them out to watch. If they find out anythin' they'll manage to telegraph him in time to get ready for anythin' comin'."

"Can you see Lone Wolf among them?"

"Can't make sartin of it," returned the hunter. "He knows that if I can get a crack at him he'll go, and so he takes care not to let me have the chance. Can you see anythin' off toward the mountains in the west?"

"Nothing but that Apache horseman going away like an arrow."

"There's the p'int from which our friends will come, if they ever come at all. Keep your eye on it while I take a look below."

The scout moved down the declivity, until he reached the place where it had been barricaded, when he stationed himself behind the obstruction, quite certain that something stirring would soon take place. It was his belief that when the time came, the Apaches, at a preconcerted signal, would rush tumultuously up the steep in a determined effort to overwhelm them all. Such a movement, of course, from the very nature of things, would give timely notice of its coming. His astonishment, therefore, may be imagined when, after he had stood in his position for a few minutes, rather listlessly and looking for no immediate demonstration, he perceived a dark body suddenly pass over his head. Turning about, he saw an Indian warrior speeding like a deer up the path toward the top of Hurricane Hill, where Ned Chadmund stood, all unconscious of his coming.

The hunter, astonished as he was at the daring feat, was not thrown off his guard. He knew that the Apache was not seeking the life of the lad, but only to open the way for the rest of the warriors to follow over the barricade. They believed that in the excitement Dick would turn and dash after the redskin, leaving the way open for the whole horde to swarm to the top of the Hill. But the clear-headed Dick maintained his position, only uttering a shout of warning to Ned Chadmund, in the hope that he might be prepared and "wing" the redskin the instant he should appear in view. Then, having done this, he stood back behind the jutting rock and held his rifle ready.

Within ten seconds a second Apache scrambled over the barricade, and started at full speed up the pathway, but he had no more than fairly started, than he fell headlong to the ground, pierced through and through by the rifle fired almost in his face. Almost the same instant a second appeared, when he tumbled backward, driven thence by the revolver of the hunter, who was as cool as an iceberg. This stemmed the tide, the crowding warriors hurrying back before the lion that lay in their path. All this was the work of a very few seconds, but it was scarcely effected, when a cry from the lad on top of the rock showed that he had discovered his danger. The next instant, white-faced and scared, he came dashing down the path, shouting to the hunter:

"Oh, Dick, save me! save me! there's an Indian after me!"

The savage, however, did not follow, and Dick, as the lad rushed into his arms, shook him rather roughly, and said:

"Keep still! Why do you make such a thunderin' noise?" The lad speedily controlled himself, and then the scout placed his revolver in his hand, and said: "Stand right here, and the minute a redskin shows himself, crack him over. Can you do it?"

"Haven't I proved it?"

"Yes; but you made such a racket here that I've lost faith in you."

"Try me and see."

Adding a few hasty words, the scout left him, and hurried to the top of the hill, without pausing to approach with his usual precaution.

His expectation was to encounter the redskin at once upon reaching it, but, to his surprise, he was nowhere to be seen, and he paused somewhat bewildered.

"I wonder whether he's got scart 'cause none of the rest followed him, and jumped overboard—"

At that instant something descended like a ponderous rock, and he realized that he was in the grip of the very redskin about whom he had been meditating. The miscreant had managed to crouch behind a rocky protuberance, and then made a sudden leap upon the shoulders of the hunter. As the Apache's scheme had miscarried thus far, and instead of being backed up by the other warriors, he was left alone to fight it out, he did not pause to attempt to make him prisoner, but went into the scrimmage with the purpose of ending it as briefly as possible. As he landed upon the shoulders of Dick the latter caught the gleam of his knife, and grasped his wrist just in time. Fearful that it would be wrenched from him, the Apache managed to give his confined hand a flirt, which threw it beyond the reach of both. By a tremendous effort Dick then succeeded in flinging him over his shoulder, although the agile redskin dropped upon his feet, and instantly flew at his antagonist like a tiger.

For several minutes the struggle raged with the greatest fury; but the Apache, in a contest of this kind, was overmatched. The hunter was much the superior, and he began crowding his foe toward the margin of the rock. Divining his purpose, he resisted with the fury of desperation; but it was useless, and the two moved along toward the brink like the slow, resistless tread of fate. Neither of them spoke a word, nor was a muscle relaxed. The scout knew that the instant the struggle was detected by those below, there would be a rush up the incline such as Ned Chadmund with his loaded and cocked revolver could not withstand. The fighting, therefore, was of the hurricane order from the beginning to the close.

There was one terrific burst of strength, and then, gathering the writhing savage in his arms, Dick Morris ran to the very edge of the plateau and hurled him over.

Down, down from dizzy heights he spun, until he struck the ground far below, a shapeless, insensible mass, falling almost at the feet of the horror-bound Apaches, who thus saw the dreadful death of one of their most intrepid and powerful warriors.

Without waiting to see the last of the redskin, the scout turned and hurried down to the relief of his young charge, and to be prepared for the rush which he was confident would be made the next minute. But it was not. The redskins had learned, from dear experience, the mettle of this formidable white man, and they had no wish to encounter it again.

The time wore away until the sun was at the meridian, and the heat became almost intolerable. Even the toughened old scout was compelled to shelter himself as best he could from its intolerable rays, by seeking the scant shadow of jutting points of the rock. Ned Chadmund suffered much, and the roiled and warm water in the old canteen was quaffed again, even though they were compelled to tip it more and more, until, toward the close of the day, Dick held it mouth downward, and showed that not a drop was left.

"No use of keeping it when we are thirsty," was the philosophic remark of the hunter. "It's made to drink, and we needn't stop so long as any is left; and bein' there ain't any left, I guess we'll stop. I've a mouthful or two of meat left, and we may as well surround that."

So they did; and when the sun sank down in the west, not a particle of food nor a drop of water remained to them.

"Now, Ned, my boy," said Dick, who always maintained a certain cheerfulness, no matter what the circumstances might be, "go to the lookout and tell me what you see."

The lad was absent some ten minutes, during which he carefully scanned every part of the horizon and took a peep down upon their besiegers.

"I find no sign of a living soul," he said, when he returned, "except the Apaches, and they're waiting until they can get us without fighting."

"Stay here while I take a peep."

Long and carefully Dick Morris gazed off to the west, in the direction of the mountains, and then something like a sigh escaped him, as he shook his head and muttered:

"It looks bad, it looks bad. If Tom succeeded, he ought to be in sight by this time. I see nothing of 'em, and from the way the redskins act down there, they seem to be sartin he's gone under. I don't mind for myself, for I'm ready to go any time; but I feel powerful sorry for the little fellow down there."



CHAPTER XXXIX.

CONCLUSION.

Long and hard rode Tom Hardynge after his escape from the beleaguring Apaches, for he was determined to save Ned and Dick if the thing were within the range of human possibility. His mustang seemed to understand what was expected of him, and he required no urging from his master to maintain his arrowy flight. It was a literal race between life and death. If he could reach Fort Havens in time to procure succor, the man and the boy were saved. If not, then they were doomed.

At daylight he was among the mountains, and the steed paused a few seconds to swallow a little water from a tiny stream. An hour later he ascended an elevation, and from his back the rider took a survey of the plain stretched out before him.

Far away in the distance a dark, stationary object was discerned. A keen eye could detect something fluttering above it in the wind. That was the star-spangled banner, waving above Fort Havens. Yonder was the destination toward which the little party had been laboring for days and which there was no assurance of still reaching. The scout had not yet passed half the distance intervening between the fort and Hurricane Hill. Mercy to his beast compelled him to give him a brief rest and an opportunity to eat a little food. Then, away again.

It was the middle of the afternoon, and Tom was nearing the fort, which was in distinct view a few miles ahead, when his attention was arrested by the sight of a number of men moving along to the north, and in a contrary direction to that which he himself was following. They suddenly emerged from some hills, and rode at a sweeping gallop. What surprised the hunter was the discovery that they were United States cavalry, that had evidently come from Fort Havens itself! How their appearance could be explained was more than he could understand; but he saw at once that if their co-operation could be secured, several hours' valuable time might be saved. He turned the head of his mustang in that direction and rode at the same tearing speed as before.

The cavalry detected his coming, reined up and awaited his approach. The afternoon was well advanced when the hunter drew rein in front of the company, and saluted the chief officer, who was Colonel Chadmund himself, the commandant of Fort Havens, at the head of seventy-five veteran cavalry. He recognized the scout, and rode forward to meet him.

"Any news of my little boy, Tom?" he asked, before their palms crossed.

"Alive and well."

"Thank God! thank God!" exclaimed the white-faced officer, trembling with joy. "Have the Indians caught him?"

"No; but he is in danger. What are you doing with these men here?"

"An Indian came into the fort several hours ago, with the word that Lone Wolf and a party of Apaches had driven two or three persons to the top of Hurricane Hill, where they would soon be caught unless assistance was sent them. The Indian is one of our regular scouts, in whom we have much confidence, and thinking it might be you, with possibly my little Ned, I put myself at the head of the company and started out to see. I had very little hope, however, of seeing him alive, for news had reached us of the massacre of the escort party in Devil's Pass."

Hardynge, in a few minutes, explained the situation, and the colonel was all excitement to be off again. Every hour—every minute, indeed—was precious to him, and, as the two rode back, the advance was resumed without a moment's delay. Instead of proceeding back in a direct line, however, over the path traveled by the scout, they made a detour to the northward, the configuration of the country being such that a much nearer approach, undiscovered, could be made from this direction than from any other.

There were several extra horses in the company, one of which was appropriated by Tom, while he left his own to roam over the plain and reach the fort whenever his disposition should take him in that direction. Colonel Chadmund had taken the precaution to mount all his men upon the best steeds at command, and they were driven into a rapid, telling pace. They made good progress, but when the sun set they had not yet reached a point from which the most distant view of Hurricane Hill could be obtained. A more moderate speed was kept up until midnight, when they went into camp, picketed their animals, and resumed the march at daybreak. The horses were forced to the greatest possible endurance, but never did miles seem so long. It was high noon before a point among the hills on the north was reached from which a fair view of the pile of rocks could be obtained. Colonel Chadmund produced his glass, and scrutinized the towering-like mass, in quest of some sign of the defenders. Not the least could be obtained; but he saw at the base the band of Apaches, spread out like a miniature besieging army, and this, to the minds of all, was proof that the garrison of Hurricane Hill were still at the post of duty.

It was necessary to approach as close to the spot as possible without discovery, and then to charge down upon the Indians with such fiery impetuosity that they would have no time to inflict any damage upon the brave defenders. The appearance of the cavalry would apprise them that the siege was at an end, and in the gnawing rage thereat, they might charge up the incline and open a fire, which would riddle Dick and Ned and from which there would be no escape.

Colonel Chadmund understood Indian warfare so well as to know that Lone Wolf had his scouts out, and it would be a difficult matter to avoid them. Still the attempt was made, and by the middle of the afternoon, the cavalry had reached a point barely two miles away without his presence being suspected.

"I've been watching the place for half an hour," said the colonel, as he lowered his glass, and handed it to Tom Hardynge, standing at his elbow, "and it seems to me that the top of Hurricane Hill is deserted, although the Apaches at the base seem to point the other way."

"Of course, of course," replied the hunter, impatiently. "You don't 'spose they'd stand up in sight all the time, like a couple of spoonies gettin' their pictures took? They're watchin' the path that leads up to where they be."

It required but a few minutes to conclude their preparations, when the seventy odd cavalrymen, armed to the teeth, burst forth from the hills like a mountain torrent, and charged straight for Lone Wolf and his band. The latter, of course, were quick to detect it, and drew up with the purpose of making a fight; but when they took in the strength of the company approaching, they changed their minds, and broke and scattered like chaff before the whirlwind.

This was a severe disappointment, for the colonel and a dozen of his best Indian fighters had arranged to make a determined effort to rid the country of this pest. These were the best mounted in the company, and in their eagerness they sped straight ahead after the redskins, still hoping that some turn of fortune's wheel would give them the coveted chance. But the mustangs of the Apaches were fresh and fleet, and they had no purpose of meeting the United States cavalry where there was anything like an equal advantage; so they continued their flight with such persistent celerity that they soon vanished from view.

The heart of Colonel Chadmund misgave him as he galloped toward Hurricane Hill and saw no sign of life there. But while he was alternating between hope and despair, the figure of a man appeared around the corner of the rock, and then the form of a little boy was discerned, as he came running across the prairie with out-stretched arms.

"Oh, father! father!"

Colonel Chadmund leaped from the back of his horse and ran to meet him.

"My darling boy! God be thanked!"

The stern old soldier wept like a child as he caught him in his arms and hugged him to his breast, while more than one rough soldier, looking on, dashed the tears from his eyes and tried to look as if he were thinking of something else.

The danger was passed. Little Ned, carried in triumph to the fort, remained the appointed time with his father at this advanced frontier post, and when he returned to Santa Fe to his beloved mother it was with an escort which guaranteed his safety.

Thus ended his adventures with what were then the scourges of the great Southwest, but the memory of them is indelible and not to be subdued by the lapse of years. In his manhood days he looks back upon those troublous times when the wild riders left the bones of venturesome white men to whiten upon the banks of the Gila; and, although remembrance brings its thrill of excitement, it is coupled with a shudder whenever Ned Chadmund thinks of his passage "Through Apache Land."

Volume III of The War Whoop Series is entitled "In the Pecos Country."



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58. Sketch Book. Irving.

59. Stickit Minister. S. R. Crockett.

60. House of the Seven Gables. Hawthorne.

61. Poetical Works of Robert Browning.

62. Paradise Lost. Milton.

63. Hamlet. Shakespeare.

64. Julius Caesar. Shakespeare.

65. Book of Golden Deeds. Yonge.

66. Child's History of England. Dickens.

67. Confessions of an Opium Eater. De Quincey.

68. Ten Nights in a Barroom. Arthur.

69. Treasure Island. Stevenson.

70. Tanglewood Tales. Hawthorne.

71. In His Steps. Chas. M. Sheldon.

72. Natural Law in the Spiritual World. Henry Drummond.

73. Imitation of Christ. T. a Kempis.

74. Paradise Regained. John Milton.

75. Water Babies. Kingsley.

76. Flower Fables. L. M. Alcott.

77. Blithedale Romance. Hawthorne.

78. Prue and I. G. W. Curtis.

79. Grandfather's Chair. Hawthorne.

80. Bacon's Essays.

81. Idylls of the King. Tennyson.

82. Wonder Book. Hawthorne.

83. Cricket on the Hearth. C. Dickens.

84. Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow. Jerome K. Jerome.

85. Inez. Augusta J. Evans.

86. Kidnapped. R. L. Stevenson.

87. Lucile. Owen Meredith.

88. Phillips Brooks' Addresses.

89. Prince of the House of David. Professor Ingraham.

90. Three Men in a Boat. J. K. Jerome.



THE FAMOUS HENTY BOOKS

The Boys' Own Library

G. A. Henty has long held the field as the most popular boys' author. Age after age of heroic deeds has been the subject of his pen, and the knights of old seem very real in his pages. Always wholesome and manly, always heroic and of high ideals, his books are more than popular wherever the English language is spoken.

Each volume is printed on excellent paper from new large-type plates, bound in cloth, assorted colors, with an attractive ink and gold stamp.

A Final Reckoning A Tale of Bush Life in Australia

Among the Malay Pirates

By England's Aid The Freeing of the Netherlands

By Right of Conquest A Tale of Cortez in Mexico

Bravest of the Brave A Tale of Peterborough in Spain

By Pike and Dyke The Rise of the Dutch Republic

By Sheer Pluck A Tale of the Ashantee War

Bonnie Prince Charlie A Tale of Fontenoy and Culloden

Captain Bayley's Heir A Tale of the Gold Fields of California

Cat of Bubastes A Story of Ancient Egypt

Colonel Thorndyke's Secret

Cornet of Horse A Tale of Marlborough's Wars

Facing Death A Tale of the Coal Mines

Friends, though Divided A Tale of the Civil War in England

For Name and Fame A Tale of Afghan Warfare

For the Temple A Tale of the Fall of Jerusalem

In Freedom's Cause A Story of Wallace and Bruce

In the Reign of Terror The Adventures of a Westminster Boy

In Times of Peril A Tale of India

Jack Archer A Tale of the Crimea

Lion of St. Mark A Tale of Venice in the XIV. Century

Lion of the North A Tale of Gustavus Adolphus

Maori and Settler A Tale of the New Zealand War

Orange and Green A Tale of the Boyne and Limerick

One of the 28th A Tale of Waterloo

Out on the Pampas A Tale of South America

Rujub the Juggler

St. George for England A Tale of Crecy and Poictiers

Sturdy and Strong

True to the Old Flag A Tale of the Revolution

The Golden Canon

The Lost Heir

The Young Colonists A Tale of the Zulu and Boer Wars

The Young Midshipman

The Dragon and the Raven A Tale of King Alfred

The Boy Knight A Tale of the Crusades

Through the Fray A Story of the Luddite Riots

Under Drake's Flag A Tale of the Spanish Main

With Wolfe in Canada The Tale of Winning a Continent

With Clive in India The Beginning of an Empire

With Lee in Virginia A Story of the American Civil War

Young Carthaginian A Story of the Times of Hannibal

Young Buglers A Tale of the Peninsular War

Young Franc-Tireurs A Tale of the Franco-Prussian War



FLAG OF FREEDOM SERIES

By CAPTAIN RALPH BONEHILL

BOYS OF THE FORT; or, A Young Captain's Pluck

Captain Bonehill is at his best when relating a tale of military adventure, and this story of stirring doings at one of our well-known forts in the Wild West is of more than ordinary interest. The young captain had a difficult task to accomplish, but he had been drilled to do his duty, and he did it thoroughly. Gives a good insight into army life of to-day.

THE YOUNG BANDMASTER; or, Concert Stage and Battlefield

In this tale Captain Bonehill touches upon a new field. The hero is a youth with a passion for music, who, compelled to make his own way in the world, becomes a cornetist in an orchestra, and works his way up, first, to the position of a soloist, and then to that of leader of a brass band. He is carried off to sea and falls in with a secret-service cutter bound for Cuba, and while in that island joins a military band which accompanies our soldiers in the never-to-be-forgotten attack on Santiago. A mystery connected with the hero's inheritance adds to the interest of the tale.

OFF FOR HAWAII; or, The Mystery of a Great Volcano

Here we have fact and romance cleverly interwoven. Several boys start on a tour of the Hawaiian Islands. They have heard that there is a treasure located in the vicinity of Kilauea, the largest active volcano in the world, and go in search of it. Their numerous adventures will be followed with much interest.

A SAILOR BOY WITH DEWEY; or, Afloat in the Philippines

The story of Dewey's victory in Manila Bay will never grow old, but here we have it told in a new form—not as those in command witnessed the contest, but as it appeared to a real, live American youth who was in the navy at the time. Many adventures in Manila and in the interior follow, giving true-to-life scenes from this remote portion of the globe. A book that should be in every boy's library.

WHEN SANTIAGO FELL; or, The War Adventures of Two Chums

Captain Bonehill has never penned a better tale than this stirring story of adventures in Cuba. Two boys, an American and his Cuban chum, leave New York to join their parents in the interior of Cuba. The war between Spain and the Cubans is on, and the boys are detained at Santiago de Cuba, but escape by crossing the bay at night. Many adventures between the lines follow, and a good pen-picture of General Garcia is given. The American lad, with others, is captured and cast into a dungeon in Santiago; and then follows the never-to-be-forgotten campaign in Cuba under General Shafter. How the hero finally escapes makes reading no wide-awake boy will want to miss.

* * * * *

Press Opinions of Captain Bonehill's Books for Boys

"Captain Bonehill's stories will always be popular with our boys, for the reason that they are thoroughly up-to-date and true to life. As a writer of outdoor tales he has no rival."—Bright Days.

"The story is by Captain Ralph Bonehill, and that is all that need be said about it, for all of our readers know that the captain is one of America's best story-tellers, so far as stories for young people go."—Young People of America.

"We understand that Captain Bonehill will soon be turning from sporting stories to tales of the war. This field is one in which he should feel thoroughly at home. We are certain that the boys will look eagerly for the Bonehill war tales."—Weekly Messenger.



MRS. L. T. MEADE'S

FAMOUS BOOKS FOR GIRLS

There are few more favorite authors with American girls than Mrs. L. T. MEADE, whose copyright works can only be had from us. Essentially a writer for the home, with the loftiest aims and purest sentiments, Mrs. Meade's books possess the merit of utility as well as the means of amusement. They are girls' books—written for girls, and fitted for every home.

Here will be found no maudlin nonsense as to the affections. There are no counts in disguise nor castles in Spain. It is pure and wholesome literature of a high order with a lofty ideal.

The volumes are all copyright, excellently printed with clear, open type, uniformly bound in best cloth, with ink and gold stamp.

THE FOLLOWING ARE THE TITLES

The Children of Wilton Chase Bashful Fifteen Betty: A Schoolgirl Four on an Island Girls New and Old Out of the Fashion The Palace Beautiful Polly, a New-Fashioned Girl Red Rose and Tiger Lily Temptation of Olive Latimer A Ring of Rubies A Sweet Girl Graduate A World of Girls Good Luck A Girl in Ten Thousand A Young Mutineer Wild Kitty The Children's Pilgrimage The Girls of St. Wode's Light o' the Morning Bad Little Hannah Rebellion of Lill Carrington A Little Mother to the Others Merry Girls of England

THE END