The Round-Up | Page 5

the distance, and as suddenly vanished in
thin air.
"Rurales!" ejaculated Lane. "I wonder if they are chasing Apaches?
That infernal mirage gives you no idea of distance or direction. If the
red devils have got away from Crook and slipped by these Greaser
rangers over the border, they'll sure be making straight for the Ghost
Range, and by this very trail. If so, I'm at the best place on it to meet
them, and here I stay till the coast is clear." Turning to the red cross on
the rock, he reflected: "Perhaps, after all, it's a case of 'Nebo's lonely
mountain.'"

Lane had hardly reached this conclusion before he found it justified by
the sight of a mounted Apache in the regalia of war emerging from a
hidden dip in the trail below the fortification. Lane dropped behind the
parapet, evidently before he was observed, as the steadily increasing
number and loudness of the hoof-beats on the rocky trail indicated to
the listener.
Crawling back to his horse and burro, he made them lie down against
the upper wall, and picketed them with short lengths of rope to the
ground, for he foresaw that danger could come only from the
mountainside. Taking his Winchester, he returned to the parapet, and,
half-seated, half-reclining behind it, opened fire on the unsuspecting
Apaches. The leader, shot through the head, fell from his horse, which
reared and backed wildly down the trail. Other bullets must have found
their billets also, but, because of the confusion which ensued among the
Indians, the prospector was unable to tell how many of them he had put
out of action. In a flash every rider had leaped off his horse, and,
protecting himself by its body, was scrambling with his mount to the
protecting declivity in the rear. The prospector was sorely tempted to
pump his cartridges into the group as it poured back over the rim of the
hollow, but he desisted from the useless slaughter of horses alone,
knowing that he could be attacked only on foot, and that every one of
his slender store of cartridges must find a human mark if he would
return to the States alive. "They've got to put me out of business before
they can go on," he ruminated. "An Apache is a good deal of a coward
when he's fighting for pleasure, but just corner him, and, great snakes
and spittin' wildcats, what a game he does put up! I must save my
cartridges; for one thing's sure, they won't waste any of theirs.
They're not as good shots as white men, for ammunition is too scarce
with them for use in gun practise; so they won't fire till they've got me
dead to rights. Let me see; there's about a dozen left in the party, and I
have fifteen cartridges--that's three in reserve for my own outfit, if
some of the others fail to get their men. Those red devils enjoy skinning
an animal alive as much as torturing a man, and you can bet they won't
save me any bullets by shooting Nance and Jinny."

Reasoning that the Indians would not dare to attack by way of the open
trail in front, and that it would take some time for them to make the
detour necessary to approach him from above, since they would have to
leave their ponies below and climb on hands and knees over jutting
ledges and around broken granite blocks, Lane coolly proceeded to
drink his coffee, and eat his lunch of hard bread and cold bacon-rind.
After he had finished, he gave a lump of sugar to each of his animals,
and pressed his cheek with an affectionate hug against the side of his
horse's head.
"Old girl," he said. "I'm sorry we can't take a parting drink, for I'm
afraid neither of us will reach our next water-hole. But you can count
on me that the red devils won't get you."
Then, going to his pack, he undid it, and took out a double handful of
yellow nuggets and a number of canvas bags. These he deposited in the
pot-hole, and, prying up the flat stone of the fireplace, laid it over them,
and covered the stone with embers.
"It's a ten to one shot that they finish me," he reflected; "but the wages
I've paid for by a year of hard work and absence from her side, stay just
as near Echo Allen as I can bring them alive, and, if there's any truth in
what they say about spirits disclosing in dreams the place of buried
treasure, with the chance of my getting them to her after I am dead."
Taking the useless boulders from the edge of the cliff, but carefully, so
as not to expose himself to