Meanwhile Maurice Freeman was a prey to the gravest anxiety. Much as he admired his companion, he was almost certain that his rash bravery would involve both in fatal disaster. He questioned more and more the prudence of lingering in the neighborhood, when it was certain the Apaches were seeking their overthrow.

This uneasiness was intensified during the minute following the discharge of the lieutenant’s rifle by the proof that something was amiss. Both horses flung up their heads and sniffed, looking not toward the stream, but away from it.

“It’s a wonder we have escaped so long,” was the impatient thought of Freeman; “now we are going to catch it. Lieutenant,” he called, “come here at once.”

Decker heard the voice, but a moment before it reached him he had begun stealing from the stream, holding his crouching posture until beyond range of the sharpest-eyed warrior. He was within a rod or two of the horses, when called to, and vaulted instantly into the saddle.

“What is it, captain? Anything wrong?”

“The action of the animals shows that danger threatens, and in my opinion——”

“Sh?”

At the same instant the forms of two horsemen loomed to sight on the right. They came forward as silently as shadows, acting as if they saw nothing of the others, or, seeing them, counted them as naught.

“Halt!” commanded the lieutenant, “or I fire!” a proceeding which would have taken place had he not suspected the identity of the two.

“Huh! Maroz—Ceballos!” replied one of the Apaches, without checking his animal.

“They are friends,” remarked the officer; “they belong to the reservation and probably have been at the fort.”

“I know them,” remarked Freeman, “but do not include myself among their admirers.”

As Decker had remarked, Maroz and Ceballos were two Apaches who were frequently seen at Fort Reno. Two years before they were among Geronimo’s most ferocious followers, but, for most of the time since, had claimed to be, and indeed had conducted themselves like good Indians. Both were addicted to the use of “tiswin,” that decoction of fermented corn, which is amazingly quick to inflame the evil passions of an Indian to the highest degree.

Despite the professions of these two bucks, and the fact that nothing wrong was known against them, they had not the confidence of the colonel nor of most of the soldiers at the fort.

It will be understood, therefore, that neither Lieutenant Decker nor Maurice Freeman felt that degree of relief which would have been theirs had they known of a certainty that they were joined by two friends, for what can be more trying than the company of those whom we distrust amid the gravest possible peril?

Having announced themselves, Maroz and Ceballos immediately joined the two horsemen, who treated them as if certain they were friends.

“Why are you here?” asked the lieutenant.

“Geronimo somewhere,” replied Maroz, speaking for himself and his companion; “come with warrior—he burn ranch—kill white folks—white folks brothers of Maroz and Ceballos—dey help brothers.”

It was in the mind of Freeman to interpose with the question as to how these two had learned of the presence of the Apache leader, when until a few hours before it was unknown to the white scouts, but it would have been unwise at this point to let the two know they were not fully trusted.

“Where are our men?” asked Decker; “I have signaled but hear nothing of them; they ought not to be many miles away.”

“Maroz and Ceballos don’t know—dey somewhere.”

“I shouldn’t wonder if they were; nothing is more likely, but I would be glad if we could find the precise spot.”

It was evident the new arrivals were disappointed at not seeing some one else with the horsemen. It was Maroz who asked:

“Where Mendez—where Cemuri?”

Lieutenant Decker thought the situation warranted a little deception on his part.

“They are watching Geronimo and the rest; they may slay the chief before they come back to us.”

“Chief bad Injun—he kill much white folks—he dog—help kill him.”

This expression would have been comforting could the hearers have believed it honest, for it would have expressed their own sentiments.

“Yes—yes,” replied both, nodding their heads, for the moon having risen meanwhile, their faces were seen quite plainly.

“Well, all you have to do is to set about it. Some of the hostiles are on the other side of the stream and some are off yonder to the westward. Slip in among them and shoot all you can.”

It was evident this was not the part the two wished to play.

“We stay wid brother—we help him fight.”

“No, you won’t; we don’t want you; you can do no good here; we have sent Mendez and Cemuri away; you must go, too.”

The officer was so peremptory that the Apaches did not question him further. They glanced at each other, then, without speaking, set off with their ponies on a walk toward the stream now in plain sight.

To the surprise of Decker and Freeman, they drove their horses into the water and rode directly to the other side. Near the middle the animals sank to their flanks, but at no point were they forced to swim. Emerging they continued straight away until they faded from view.

“I don’t know whether it was wise to send them off in that style,” remarked the lieutenant, “but I don’t wish their company, even if they do claim to be friends.”

CHAPTER IX.
MENDEZ, THE SCOUT.

When Mendez, the White Mountain Apache, left the company of Lieutenant Decker and Maurice Freeman he fully comprehended the perilous mission he had undertaken.

He had set out to learn and if possible help check the scheme of Geronimo and his strong party, who were pushing eastward toward the more fertile and better settled Sutra Valley, with the purpose of spreading fire, destruction and death wherever the opportunity offered. What could this single scout do to affect or hinder such a purpose?

Mendez dare not enter the camp of the hostiles, under the pretense of being a friend of the raiders. Geronimo and probably all his warriors knew the one that had done them so much injury, and if Mendez really wished to cast his lot with them, his allegiance would not be accepted. His offensive work would not admit of condonation.

Lieutenant Decker spoke the truth when he said that his faithful scout would never allow himself to be taken prisoner. He always kept one chamber of his revolver filled for that emergency, which, however, would have to be desperate, before he would apply the weapon to its last use.

The theory upon which the sagacious Mendez acted was that Geronimo’s plan was to sweep from his path the little company in his immediate front before carrying out his original scheme. He believed that these four were the only ones who had divined his purpose. If, therefore, they were “wiped out,” he could complete his terrific raid before an adequate force could rally in his front or cut him off. The destruction of the little party, therefore, was the present design of the invaders.

If the scout was right in his surmise, Lieutenant Decker had but to despatch Mendez in the opposite direction, the same that the wounded Cemuri had followed, in order to bring speedy help. Such would have been the plan of the dusky scout, but he was a man of silence, and made no attempt to gainsay his commanding officer, no matter how much his plans might conflict with his own judgment.

It should be said that Lieutenant Decker had partly followed the course which Mendez preferred, in that he had sent Cemuri off, not only to the fort, but with instructions to find if possible the rest of the cavalrymen or scouts who were abroad, and acquaint them with the situation. Should he succeed nearly all that was possible would be accomplished, but the scout feared the severity of his comrade’s wound would interfere with his usefulness.

However, dismissing all this from his mind, he set to work to carry out the delicate task before him.

The first step was to locate the invaders, who were not likely to separate at this stage of the proceedings, and here Mendez followed a theory of his own.

He believed the Apaches were not far off and that they would steal forward in the hope of outwitting and overcoming the white men. Nothing was clearer than that the scout was at great disadvantage so long as he remained on his horse. He would be not only more conspicuous than on foot, but would be stopped from using the remarkable skill with which nature and long training had equipped him. He, therefore, made a wide circuit on the sandy plain to the left, until certain he was beyond sight of any foe. Then he slipped to the ground.

His well-trained animal would not wander from the spot where he was left, and his owner was certain to find him near it, always provided no one else interfered with him. He patted his neck and allowed the intelligent creature to rub his nose against his shoulder. They understood each other.

Mendez now started to return over his own tracks, bearing slightly to the eastward, until he approached the stream. Then he paused.

The moon had not yet risen, but he knew it would soon appear, when still greater caution would be necessary in his movements. Stooping low he applied his ear to the earth, but heard nothing.

Bending low and stepping slowly—an easy thing to do on the sand—he pressed on until he reached the edge of the narrow, smoothly flowing stream. There he stood motionless for several minutes, debating whether to cross the creek or to push his reconnaissance where he was.

Standing thus, he heard a noise which, though faint, was easily identified. It was the whinny of a horse and it came from some point on the opposite bank. Geronimo and his band were there and he determined to cross to them.

The peculiar noise was not directly opposite, but somewhat to the right, that is, nearer to where he had left his friends. Nevertheless, the scout moved further down the stream before stepping into the water. He suspected it was sufficiently shallow to be forded, but was prepared to swim if need be. He held his Winchester above his head, stepping carefully into the current, which near the middle reached above his waist. From that point the depth decreased and he finally emerged, having waded all the way. He was now on the same side with the hostiles.

If detected, his situation was tenfold more dangerous than before, and more than likely that reserve shot in his revolver would be called upon. The hostiles could easily run him down with their horses and a plunge into the stream would not save him.

In order to hide his movements he sank upon his hands and knees and began creeping toward the spot whence came the horse’s neigh. A few rods were passed in this manner, when he caught sight of that for which he was searching. A group of horsemen were dimly outlined against the sky.

So far as he could determine, there were at least a dozen. No doubt the entire band had come together and were holding a consultation as to what course they should follow.

It would have been a most desirable thing could he have approached near enough to overhear their conversation, but that was impossible. He was certain to be discovered by the animals, if not the riders, and detection meant death.

He heard the murmur of their voices, but no syllable that could be comprehended reached the crouching figure in the sand.

Suppose they should turn their horses and ride toward him! He could only make a break for the stream and strive desperately for the other shore—a feat which it may be said was impossible of accomplishment, but this was only one of the many risks which a scout has to face when operating in Arizona.

From among the group three warriors emerged on foot. They did not advance toward the solitary figure in the sand, but took a diagonal course to the stream, whose bank they followed until hidden in the gloom. Mendez did not leave or move, but speculated as to the meaning of this singular action.

While still wondering, he heard the signal which Lieutenant Decker mistook for that of a friend.

Mendez was startled, for he recognized its perfect imitation of the call which he had used many times when scouting with the officer. He wondered by what means their enemies had obtained it, and concluded that it was one of those accidental occurrences, such as are seen when two ranchmen, widely separated, fix upon the same brand for their cattle.

The fact caused uneasiness, for the scout feared that it would mislead his friend, but nothing could be done to avert so disastrous a blunder. The officer must be left to his own shrewdness, which, as the reader has learned, proved sufficient for his protection.

Then came the rifle-shot and death cry of one of the hostiles. There could be no misinterpretation of that meaning, and the dusky scout smiled grimly as he reflected that another of the many schemes of the raiders had gone amiss.

If any doubt remained on that point, it was removed a few minutes later, when two warriors were descried returning, whereas three had left the group a short time before. The one stricken down had been allowed to lie where he fell.

It was at this juncture that Mendez became aware of a discomforting fact: the moon was rising and would soon shed a bright illumination over stream and plain. If he remained where he was, discovery was inevitable. He therefore began a cautious withdrawal from the perilous neighborhood.

He adopted a curious artifice. Instead of facing about and creeping away, he imitated the action of Geronimo’s horse some hours before, when confronting Lieutenant Decker. He backed toward the stream, a course which enabled him to keep an eye on his enemies in front.

He had passed half the distance, and was cautiously retrograding, when he experienced a shock. One of the mounted Apaches left the group and rode toward him!

Mendez ceased his motion on the instant and grasped his Winchester so as to aim and fire in a twinkling. His purpose was, if discovered, to shoot the buck from his pony, dash forward and capture his horse, or if that was not feasible, make a break to the stream and run for his own animal.

One of these desperate attempts assuredly would have followed had the horseman kept the course upon which he started, but he had gone only a little way when he made an abrupt change and approached the bank at a point almost as far removed from the scout as was the band of raiders.

This was a vast relief, and all fear would have departed but for the moon which was rapidly climbing the sky and shedding an effulgence that made it like daylight itself. Had the scout risen to his feet he would have been detected at once. He must continue prone and reach the stream in that posture or not reach it at all.

But it looked as if that solitary horseman was doomed to be his death after all; for, instead of crossing the creek or remaining where he was, he turned once more, and, as before, headed toward Mendez, who, believing the critical moment had come, braced himself for the struggle.

CHAPTER X.
THE EAVESDROPPER.

It would be hard to explain the course of the Apache horseman. It looked at first as if he had been aware of the presence of the scout for some, and was trifling with him, as a cat sometimes toys with a mouse before crunching it in her jaws, but the peculiar circumstances forbids this explanation.

Instead of riding directly over the prostrate figure, the buck once more checked his animal, while several rods distant. Mendez, who was watching him intently, then perceived that instead of looking in front of his pony, he was gazing toward the further shore of the stream, as if interested there. Possibly he had seen or heard something which he did not understand.

The few seconds’ grace thus granted were improved by the imperiled scout. Gently swaying his body, limbs and hands, he groveled and burrowed silently into the sand, until, with the exception of his head, he was covered. The fine particles reached even to his shoulders. Stretched thus, perfectly motionless, an enemy might have passed within arm’s length without observing him.

The dread of Mendez was not that the rider would see him, nor indeed that the horse would observe him, but that the keen scent of the animal would bring the revelation. There are many situations—and this was one of them—in which the nose of a horse is more to be feared than the sagacity of his rider.

Whatever the Apache was studying did not engage his attention long. He spoke to his pony, which turned to one side and walked toward the waiting group.

In doing this he approached still closer to the figure almost wholly hidden in the sand. It is not probable that he saw it, but his keen sense of smell apprised him that some man or animal was near. He swerved suddenly to one side with a snort, and skillful as was his rider, the movement was so abrupt that he came within a hair of being unseated. He spoke angrily to his animal, striking his heels so sharply against his ribs that he galloped the few remaining steps to the main company.

No narrower escape than that of Mendez can be conceived. With all his acumen he hardly understood why the buck failed to make an investigation. Had he done so, discovery was absolutely certain. It must have been that he reasoned that no such cause as the real one could exist, so close to the other horseman, and such belief on his part was one of the most reasonable things in the world.

But be all this as it may, it was high time that the scout effected a change of base. Wonderful as was the good fortune that had attended him thus far, it could not continue indefinitely: disaster impended.

It was not far to the stream which he was so anxious to reach, and yet, despite the peril involved in remaining where he was, he decided it was not so dangerous as to try to leave the spot while Geronimo and his men were so near. He was now effectually hidden in the sand, for he drew more of the particles about his head until little more than his hair and eyes was visible.

The keen vision of the hostiles was likely to be drawn to the spot if he resumed his backward movement toward the water. It will be remembered, too, that the banks of the stream were so low and flat that they could give no concealment, and the agitation that must follow his entrance into the shallow creek was certain to catch the notice of his enemies.

And so, on the whole, he did the best thing possible, risky as it must be, by staying where he was.

It seemed as if the whole gamut of fear was to be run by Mendez, who found himself in such peculiar danger. The horsemen made a shift of position which brought them several yards nearer the prostrate figure, who would have been glad to sink himself several feet under the ground had it been possible.

But this supreme trial of his nerves brought its consolation, for he was now able to hear and understand nearly everything said by his enemies—an achievement which otherwise would have been among the impossibilities.

A significant fact, immediately preceding this eavesdropper episode, was the arrival of Maroz and Ceballos, who, as will be remembered, had been sent away by Lieutenant Decker. From his curious hiding-place Mendez recognized both, as they rode up in the bright moonlight and joined the group as if they were friends who expected their coming.

It will be more intelligible if we give a liberal interpretation of the conversation between Geronimo and the two arrivals.

“I am glad to look upon the face of my brothers,” said the leader, by way of greeting; “I knew you would hasten to join us.”

“We came as soon as we could; but the soldiers watch us closely; they distrust us, though we have done all we could to make them think us friends.”

To this remark by Maroz, Ceballos added:

“We are eager to give the great Geronimo all the help we can.”

“Where are the soldiers?” was the pertinent query of the chief.

“We are not sure; they were a few miles to the east, near the Sutra Valley.”

“Do they know of our coming?”

“They cannot, but others do.”

“Who are the others?”

“Lieutenant Decker, the man Freeman with him, and Mendez and Cemuri, the traitors.”

“Who are they?”

“The white men are on the other side of the stream; they killed one of your warriors, as I have learned; Mendez and Cemuri have left them to watch the movements of yourself and warriors.”

“I know the renegades are with the two white men; I would give much could I lay hands on them, but we fear them not; it is the horsemen whom we need to look for, for they are more numerous than we.”

“If we move quickly we may strike and get away before the soldiers know where we are,” was the wise suggestion of Maroz.

“That we would do if we could learn where the soldiers are; we must first know that.”

In this remark, the Apache leader revealed the key of the whole situation. He was among the most cunning of his people, and, while at times, he assumed risks that were of the most reckless character, it was not his rule to do so when they could well be avoided. He knew that the alarm of his approach had spread, through some means, despite his swiftness of movement. The American cavalry were scouting through the country for him, and he had had too many brushes with those daring troopers to seek another conflict, even if he did not always run away from a fight.

The remark quoted raised the interesting question in the mind of the eavesdropper hidden in the sand, whether, if Geronimo became convinced that the course to the ranches to the eastward was well guarded, he would not turn back and postpone his raid to a more propitious season.

This was the occasion when Maroz and Ceballos, had they been the friends of the whites that they pretended to be, might have done inestimable service by making the dreaded scourge believe that such danger threatened him. Instead of taking this course, however, the miscreants urged him to hasten the blow he was meditating.

“If you stay here too long,” continued Maroz, “the soldiers will know of a certainty that you are coming.”

“But they will not know where we mean to go.”

“Mendez and Cemuri will warn them,” suggested Maroz, who, it will be remembered, knew nothing of the wounding of Cemuri.

“They shall not live to see the sun rise!” exclaimed Geronimo, with his old-time fierceness; “we shall slay them both; the white men with them shall be killed; then we will turn to the southward, strike our blow and be gone before the soldiers can learn where we are.”

It will be conceded that Mendez was acquiring a good deal of interesting information. The question was whether he would be able to turn it to account since his own position was more perilous than that of any one else.

“Let Maroz and Ceballos go back to the white men; let them be vigilant, and when the chance comes kill them both!”

“That is what we meant to do,” was the prompt avowal of Ceballos, “but they sent us away before we had the chance; they told us to go to you, and to fight against you; if we go back they will believe we are your friends and they will slay us.”

There was sense in this statement of the situation, and the great Apache leader could not fail to see it. If the two should return to Lieutenant Decker, after being sent away, it could not fail to throw them under suspicion, and more than likely their lives would pay the forfeit.

But it was necessary that some one should get nearer the two than any of the Apaches had succeeded in doing, or else no further attention was to be given to the little party, who kept so persistently in the path of the raiders, or Geronimo must postpone his raid, as has been stated, to a more convenient season.

The chieftain decided upon the first expedient. He spoke to one of his most trusted scouts and directed him to cross the stream, and by some means slay the obstructing white men. This was an elastic order, permitting, as it did, the widest latitude as to the means employed; but it was all Geronimo could do, for nothing would have been more idle than for him to give minute instructions, when he could have no possible knowledge of the complications that would arise.

He might have called on any member of his band and the response would have been as prompt as in the case of the veteran scout who now essayed a task as dangerous as it was difficult.

CHAPTER XI.
CAVARHO AND MENDEZ.

The scout selected by Geronimo showed his wisdom by dismounting and setting out on foot to perform his delicate mission. Like Mendez, he did not mean to handicap himself with the presence of his horse.

In going to the stream he almost stepped upon the White Mountain Apache, who, fortunately for him, had about buried himself in the sand, but with all his astonishing skill, the hostile saw not the object which could not have escaped his vision had he once looked down to the earth, instead of keeping his eyes fixed on the silently flowing stream and the clearly defined bank beyond.

Mendez had certainly gone through his share of trying danger. He had learned all that it was necessary to know and much more than he expected to learn, and his one desire now was to get back to his friends. A grim warrior had started to seek their lives, and, knowing his own race as he did, Mendez feared the issue.

The moon had climbed so high in the heavens and its light was so powerful that the scout not only dared not approach the creek, but was afraid to change his position or fling off any part of the blanket of sand that had served so well to conceal him. He must stay where he was until Geronimo and his band moved away.

Luckily for the scout his suspense was soon relieved. Suddenly the horsemen were in motion, and, approaching the stream, followed its bank until out of sight to the eastward.

This was the chance for which Mendez was waiting with a feeling akin to impatience. Like a sleeper roused from slumber, he shook himself free from the rattling particles, and, rising to his feet, skurried to the water’s edge, at the point where he had emerged. A quick glance showed no one in sight, and stepping into the current he made his way to the other shore without incident.

His object now was to rejoin his friends as soon as he could, impart the important tidings he had gained, and help them guard against the treacherous attempt that was sure to be made against their lives.

Lieutenant Decker had told him where to seek himself and Freeman. They might have shifted their position, but not far. He recalled the point whence the fatal shot had been fired into the group of three Apaches, and turned his footsteps thither.

It was destined to be a night of adventure to the daring scout, for while he was making his way along shore, two horsemen suddenly loomed to view. They were on the other side of the stream, however, and he might have taken them for his friends had the light been less powerful. As it was, the first glance showed them to be hostiles.

It will be understood that in one respect Mendez held an immense advantage over them, for he knew they were enemies, while they took him for a friend—a natural mistake, since he belonged to their own race, and his attire was similar to that of many of the tribe.

Another incident contributed to the blunder: their own scout had crossed but a few minutes before. He was on foot, and in height and general appearance resembled Mendez, while the moonlight was just faint enough to exclude a close scrutiny.

The distance between the two was so slight that it was easy to understand each other by using an ordinary conversational tone.

“Cavarho,” said one of the horsemen, using the name of the supposed scout, “why do you seek the white men by the side of the stream?”

“Was it not from this side that they slew one of our bravest men?” asked Mendez in turn.

“True, but not from that spot.”

“It is further up the bank and I am making my way there.”

“But in the strong light of the moon they will see you, Cavarho.”

“No sooner than they will see you on your horses.”

“We shall watch for them.”

“And I will do the same.”

“Cavarho is our best scout,” was the complimentary remark of the horseman who had done the talking for himself and companion.

And as if nothing more remained to be said, the two wheeled their ponies and rode off, taking a course that led away from the stream, as if in respect to the warning their supposed friend had given.

Mendez silently brought his rifle to his shoulder. He could not have asked a better target and he was certain of bringing down one if not both of them. He made his aim true and then—lowered his weapon without firing.

It is not often that an Apache is inspired by anything of a chivalrous nature, but it was so in this instance. Had the horsemen been facing him, probably Mendez would have discharged his Winchester, but with their backs toward him, and without a suspicion of their danger, even his soul rebelled. He allowed them to ride beyond range, and never did they know how close they trod the verge of death.

The scout resumed his guarded advance along the stream and concluded that he was in the neighborhood of his friends. He halted and looked around, but saw nothing of them. As far as the eye could reach, which in the clear atmosphere was further than would be supposed, the white sand stretched, with the winding stream agleam in the moonlight.

Mendez was on the point of emitting the signal, when once more the whinny of a horse sounded on the still night air. It startled him more than any sound he had heard that night, for it was from his own pony. Its direction left no doubt of that.

The conviction flashed upon him that the hostile who had preceded him in crossing the stream had come upon his horse and was probably trying to make off with him. The whole nature of Mendez flamed up at the outrage. He forgot everything for the moment and set out to punish the criminal and prevent the success of his daring purpose.

But intense as was his anger, the scout did not forget the situation. He was about to confront one of the most daring and skillful of his own race, who was eager to make him bite the dust.

The suspicion of Mendez was correct. Cavarho, after crossing the stream, had gone inland and away from the shore, instead of turning to the left, which would have taken him near the spot where Lieutenant Decker and Maurice Freeman were awaiting the return of Mendez and the development of events. This course led him almost in a straight line to where the pony of the friendly scout was also awaiting the coming of his master.

Cavarho showed his quickness of perception by discovering the animal before the latter detected him. The presence of the pony in this lonely place suggested the proximity of his master, and the scout did considerable maneuvering before venturing nearer. A complete circuit of the animal, however, showed that nothing of that nature was to be feared. Probably Cavarho suspected the true state of the case, though of course nothing can be said with certainty on that point. At any rate, having learned that no person beside himself was in the immediate vicinity, he walked toward the animal with the intention of making a prisoner of him.

Before this, the horse had perceived him and stood with head erect, studying the figure as it drew near. His intelligence quickly told him it was not his master, but a number of soothing expressions quieted his fears, and he suffered the stranger to come quite close before taking the alarm.

Cavarho advanced with a slow and almost imperceptible movement, murmuring gently in his own tongue, while the beast hesitated whether to permit more familiarity or to bound away.

He decided upon the latter, but deferred the matter just a second too long. In the act of wheeling, the Apache made a catlike leap and grasped his forelock, holding him with a grip which could not be shaken off. The pony uttered an angry whinny and struggled to free himself, but, unable to do so, quickly gave up the effort.

It was rarely that Mendez used a saddle. He generally preferred to ride bareback, with a rope or a strap for a halter, his voice being generally sufficient for all directions. The fact that he had no bridle or saddle must have given Cavarho an inkling of the truth and told him that the horse belonged either to Mendez or Cemuri. Be that as it may, he flung himself upon his back and became for the moment master of the situation.

It was at this juncture that a faint, peculiar cry struck the ear of the horse, which recognized it as the call of his master. Instantly he dashed in the direction whence it came. A dozen Cavarhos would not have been sufficient to restrain or turn the steed aside from his purpose.

But the acumen of the strange rider told him the meaning of all this, and he leaped to the ground in a twinkling. As he did so, he saw the figure of the enraged Mendez bearing down upon him.

There was little time for preparation and none for the peculiar strategy in which both were experts. Each was armed with a Winchester, and almost simultaneously they were brought to a level.

Mendez was quick enough to anticipate Cavarho.

The pleased horse, happy to recognize his own master, rubbed his nose against his cheek, while Mendez petted and uttered many an endearing expression. It would have been a sore grief to the scout to lose his precious steed, that had been his faithful companion in many a perilous experience.

Mendez was on his back the next instant, and keeping in mind the points of the compass, he readily guided him toward the spot where he expected to find his friends.

Nor was he disappointed. Lieutenant Decker and Captain Freeman were on the alert, and, when the familiar whistle of the scout pierced the still air, there was so little doubt in the mind of the young officer that he answered it without hesitation.

A few minutes later, Mendez emerged from the gloom, and, riding forward a brief space, the two saluted the other.

CHAPTER XII.
A CALL AND A REPLY.

Mendez brought momentous tidings indeed. Addicted as he was to silence and with no disposition to talk, he had to do considerable of it now. His imperfect knowledge of English made it necessary for his friends to ask many questions, but it did not take them long to learn all that he had gathered and which has been told in its proper place to the reader.

“Captain,” said the lieutenant, “you have been uneasy all along because I insisted upon our staying here. I could see that you were on the point of making a break for your home; are you sorry now that you did not?”

“No; I will admit that I served my family as well and perhaps better by staying here, but it was hard to believe so at the time.”

“It is rather curious, and I was doubtful myself more than once.”

“Geronimo has the reputation of being a shrewd leader, but I can’t see wherein he shows it by staying in this part of the country, when he could make a dash into the Sutra Valley and be far on his return before we knew anything about it.”

“It is not to be supposed that he holds us in any fear, but it is the other scouts that he knows are somewhere in the neighborhood. He doesn’t wish to move until he learns where they are.”

“But he has done so many times before.”

“Some time when we hold him a prisoner (if we can hold him long enough), we’ll ask him for an explanation. It’s sufficient for us to know that we have served our friends well by keeping him in check. Every hour counts, too, in our favor. He has lost two of his best men and we are without a scratch.”

“True, for the present,” remarked Freeman, looking around in the moonlight, as if he expected to discover some of their foes trying to steal upon them.

“There’s one beauty of the situation which I don’t think you appreciate, captain.”

“What’s that?”

“Geronimo sent out his best scouts to shoot us, or at least to locate us and make it easy for the others to do the job. The chief will wait a long time before he begins to suspect what has befallen that same scout.”

“That was a marvelous exploit of Mendez,” said Freeman warmly; “I never saw a man who was his superior.”

“He has no superior.”

The subject of these compliments sat motionless on his horse, his black eyes glancing in every direction, and on the alert as he always was. He heard and understood every word, but nothing in his manner showed it.

“And yet to my mind his disposal of the scout was not the equal of his exploit in remaining in hiding so near the band that he overheard every word said by Geronimo and his men; that was a wonderful thing.”

“It was indeed. He secured just the news we needed and which gives us a perfect knowledge of the old fellow’s plans.”

“How long do you think he will await the return of his scout?”

Instead of replying, the lieutenant turned the question over to Mendez. Perhaps the latter was impatient with the continued complimentary allusions to himself, for without looking at either of the men, he answered:

“Dunno.”

“Nor does any one else. If I were to give a guess, however, I should say two hours at least, and perhaps longer. Let me see.”

The officer took out his watch, the face of which could be plainly seen in the bright light.

“It is exactly ten o’clock. If I am right in my surmise, he will make no move before midnight.”

“Ain’t right—you wrong,” interjected Mendez, to the amusement of his companions.

“Well, why didn’t you say so before? Now, Mendez, give your guess.”

“Wait one—two—three hours.”

“That’s better, for it takes us beyond midnight. I shouldn’t wonder, if Geronimo waits that long, that he will not conclude it best to give up his raid.”

This was thrown out as a feeler, and both, with a smile, awaited the comment of Mendez, but he made none. He seemed to think he had imparted sufficient information.

“While we are speculating,” continued the lieutenant, “it seems to me that when one o’clock arrives, the chief will send some other scout, or perhaps two or three of them, to investigate—all of which will consume time, so that the night will be well gone before he makes a move. Am I right, Mendez?”

“Dunno.”

The lieutenant was in high spirits over their success thus far and disposed to be facetious at the expense of their grim companion.

“You made the same remark before, as preliminary to a definite expression of your views; may I hope that it will be the same in this instance?”

Perhaps the wording of this inquiry lifted it above the comprehension of the Apache, for, withdrawing his scrutiny of their surroundings for a minute, he looked at the officer, and, in his contempt for his badinage, forgot the respect due his rank.

“Huh! talk like big fool!”

This was too much for Freeman, who threw back his head and laughed heartily, taking care that his mirth should be as silent as possible. Mendez now stared at him, and said with more scorn if possible than before:

“Huh! big fool!”

And then it was the lieutenant’s turn, who almost fell from his saddle with merriment. The scout surveyed the two alternately. He would have been relieved to give expression to his feelings, but made no attempt, possibly because he could not do them justice. Instead, he turned his attention to their surroundings, peering here, there and everywhere with that birdlike restlessness which he always showed when in a situation resembling the present.

The three horses were hungry, for none of them had eaten anything since early in the day, but there was no help for it. Fodder could not be obtained in that section, where, as has been shown, the sandy soil yielded comparatively nothing. They would do well enough while water was to be had, even if compelled to go twenty-fours longer without nourishment. The ponies ridden by the raiding Apaches often suffered for a longer period, and, during many of the hard rides in the frightful summer months, they could not obtain a mouthful of water for long hours, while the raiders themselves underwent hardships which few civilized people can stand.

Lieutenant Decker had a portion of his frugal rations still in reserve, but since they had eaten not long before, it was decided to keep the food until morning.

A long, trying wait was before them, and he and Freeman dismounted, the officer striking a match, with which he lit a cigar, first giving one to Freeman, who found much solace in smoking it.

“I have been greatly depressed,” remarked the latter, “since I learned of this impending raid until now. My thoughts were with my wife and little ones, and the relief is now so great to know that they are not only safe, but that the danger is growing less with every hour that I am in buoyant spirits.”

“The expression of Mendez’s opinion then does not disturb you?”

“No; since you share with me his estimation.”

“His views in my case were made with less emphasis.”

“But he was equally in earnest; if my title of captain, which you are so fond of giving me, was as real as your own, I suspect he would have exchanged the compliments.”

“Possibly, but I forgive him in view of what he has accomplished for the good of the cause.”

“Wait—me come back.”

The men suspected the scout of wishing to place himself beyond range of their observations, for he now rode his horse toward the stream, on the other side of which it was believed the hostiles were still awaiting events.

“I hope he is not offended,” remarked Freeman, when their friend was beyond earshot.

“Offended! no; he doesn’t like to be complimented, in which respect he differs from most folks. I suspect we distract his vigilance and he wishes to get away by himself, where he can do his duty without interference.”

“And yet he apprehends no molestation from the hostiles for several hours.”

“But lacks the guarantee that we will be let alone even for a fraction of that time. He is one of those wise fellows who take no chances. I wonder,” added the lieutenant, suddenly shifting the conversation, “how Cemuri made out.”

“I see no reason to doubt his speedy arrival at the fort, but it is too soon to expect help from there.”

“I am hopeful that he came across some of the soldiers before going that far.”

“He may have met Maroz and Ceballos.”

“It is possible, but he was as distrustful of them as we, and would have avoided them.”

“He was well mounted, but those two scamps are treacherous. They have proved it to the satisfaction of Mendez, whose testimony ought to hang them.”

“It ought to, but it won’t. He overheard enough to show their disloyalty, but he did not see them commit any overt act, and they would plead that they were compelled to pretend a friendship to the hostiles to save their lives.”

“It was fortunate that you sent them off so promptly, for as long as they were in our company there is no saying what evil they would work. Lieutenant, why not repeat the signal you made some time ago?”

“The suggestion is a good one. If it doesn’t bring the boys it may add to Geronimo’s uneasiness.”

Again pointing his Winchester skyward, the young officer discharged it as before—two shots in quick succession, followed by a third at a longer interval.

And this time there was a reply!

CHAPTER XIII.
THE TROOPERS.

Cemuri, the wounded scout, did his duty well. Convinced that Lieutenant Decker did the right thing in ordering him to return to Fort Reno, to have his hurt looked after, he was as eager as ever to befriend the gallant young officer and his companions, thus deprived of his services.

The White Mountain Apache waited but a short time after the disappearance of Maroz and Ceballos, when he climbed into the saddle and headed his pony for the fort. His suffering was great, but his iron will mastered the weakness of his body, for which he showed his contempt by striking his animal into a gallop, which served to increase his pain.

A mile away he came directly upon six cavalrymen who were out on a scout. Among them were Armon Peyser, Budge Colgate and Jack Redfield, who had campaigned for years in New Mexico and Arizona and knew all there was to know of the cunning and ferocity of Geronimo, Natchez and their fierce followers.

Cemuri quickly told his story. He was able to locate the raiders and direct the party to the spot where the three scouts were doing all they could to hold them in check. Despite the pluck of the friendly Apache, he could not hide his suffering, and Peyser, in his sympathy, offered to send one of his men with him to the post.

This proposition, made with the best of intentions, was almost an insult to Cemuri. He refused it point-blank, and, to prevent its repetition, galloped away without so much as a farewell. None knew better than he that he could not receive aid too soon, but he would accept no guidance or assistance from these friends.

“That’s good news of his,” said Peyser, as he and his companions sat grouped together in the moonlight, “for it means a fight.”

“But Geronimo has some twenty of his bucks with him,” reminded Budge Colgate, “and to put matters in a good shape, we ought to have more of the boys with us.”

“We’ll do it if we can, but, if they can’t be found in time, we won’t be cheated out of our fun.”

“I don’t think Jennings and the rest are far off,” suggested Jack Redfield, who now made the signal used by Lieutenant Decker, who was too far off to hear the reports.

To their delight, the hail was instantly answered from a point so near at hand that the three instinctively turned their eyes to the south whence it came.

A few minutes later, a ringing “Halloo!” sounded through the stillness and a round dozen horsemen loomed to view, coming at a swinging pace. In a twinkling, as may be said, eighteen well-mounted and armed United States troopers gathered in the middle of the sandy plain. Armon Peyser, as the oldest campaigner and by virtue of his office as sergeant, was leader, though when a junction should be effected with Freeman and Decker, the lieutenant of course would assume command.

A hurried consultation followed. It was nearly five miles to the bend of the stream, where Cemuri had left his friends, and Peyser began describing the place, as well as he could, when Budge Colgate interrupted him.

“I know the spot! We can ride there in a bee line; lead on sergeant.”

And away they went, hardly drawing rein until within a fourth of a mile of the stream. Knowing they were near it, the party slackened their pace and were cautiously advancing, with Colgate at the head, when the signal of Lieutenant Decker reached them.

“Good!” exclaimed the scout; “I knew it wasn’t far off.”

As has been shown, the hail was promptly answered and a second junction took place, with the result that a round twenty horsemen were brought together, all eager for a brush with the hostiles. Mendez had not yet returned from his reconnaissance upon which he ventured some time before. He was not so far off, however, that he did not know of the arrival of the reinforcements, and he was but a few minutes behind them in reaching the spot.

Being ready for the serious business now in hand, the all-important requisite was to know the situation of the foe whom they meant to strike. Mendez had no information to give on that point, for when he left his two friends he went only a short way. His purpose was not so much to spy out the hostiles as to prevent their spying out the two whites and stealing a march upon them.

Lieutenant Decker was as indisposed as any of his companions to remain idle until the rising of the sun. Accordingly the three best scouts, including Mendez, were sent out to locate the raiders, if possible, with a view of attacking them at the earliest moment. In their absence, the troopers dismounted and lolled about in the sand, some snatching a little sleep, others smoking and talking in low tones, while the sentinels, as a matter of course, were placed at the proper points to guard against surprise.

Martin, one of the white scouts, went up the stream, Potter, another, took the opposite course, while Mendez rode his pony to the other side. The other two were also mounted, for it will be understood that their duty differed from that of the Apache scout, when he first went out. It was then an object with him to steal as close as he could to the raiders, with a view of learning their purposes, and it has been shown how well he did his duty.

In the present instance, however, it was only necessary to find out where the main body of hostiles were. The instant that became known, the one making the discovery would hasten back with the information. If well mounted, he could do this much more successfully than if on foot.

It was not to be supposed that the hostiles would be on the alert against such an enterprise, and the scouts undertaking it were hopeful of making their discovery and getting back within an hour from the time of their going forth.

The most dangerous proceeding, as it seemed, was that of Mendez in crossing the stream, for the presumption was that the enemies were on the other side. If he should be seen, as was quite likely, when he located the raiders he would have to make a desperate ride for life. It would not do to dash into the stream, for his progress would be so checked that he would become the best of targets for his enemies.

Recalling where he had last seen Geronimo and his bucks, Mendez rode in that direction. He knew he would not find them there, for his last glimpse showed them leaving the spot, but he made his way thither without detecting the first sign of them.

In the strong moonlight, the scout could readily see the footprints of the horses, without leaning over from the back of his own steed. The trail led up the stream, keeping quite near it, and then, to the surprise of the scout, it circled to the left and away from the water.

He could not fathom the meaning of this, nor indeed did he try to do so, for the special necessity did not exist, but he kept to it, his horse advancing slowly, while the rider peered into the gloom on every hand. The situation became more critical every moment.

The trail showed that the raiders were keeping well together and their animals were walking. Here and there diverging hoofprints indicated that one or more of the horsemen had drawn off from the main body, or else two separate trails crossed each other.

The circle swept inward upon the plain, and by and by turned backward, that is to the west. To the astonishment of Mendez, it began approaching the stream, as if the hostiles meant to recross it. If this were the fact, Potter, who had gone down the bank of the creek would probably be the first to discover the Apaches.

The probability of this issue caused the dusky scout uneasiness, for the raiders being on the same side with the troopers were likely to locate them before being observed, thus securing a perilous advantage, to say nothing of the great danger in which Potter would be placed, despite his skill and experience.

Mendez was approaching the stream, whose smooth surface gleamed in the moonlight, when his steed quietly stopped. He made no sound, but pricked his ears.

This was enough, for his owner knew what it meant. An enemy was near. Less than a minute was sufficient to place him. He was directly ahead, and like Mendez was mounted, being probably one of the hostile scouts that had been sent to the rear to watch for just such attempts as were now making against them.

The situation assumed the interesting phase of two highly trained scouts maneuvering against each other. Wonderful as was the skill of Mendez, it did not surpass that of his enemy, whose horse was also the equal of the one ridden by the other.

The pony of the scout had shown astonishing quickness in detecting the presence of the other equine, but at precisely the same moment the latter warned his rider of the approach of the other. Both halted and for a minute or more remained motionless. Then Mendez made the curious discovery that his foe was gradually fading from sight.

There was no mystery in this vanishment, however, which was in accord with natural laws. The hostile had whirled his animal around with a quickness which could not be noted at that distance, and began walking him toward the stream, closely watching at the same time the movements of the foe thus thrown to the rear.

Instead of following, Mendez waited until the other had passed out of his field of vision. Then he turned abruptly to the left and rode to the edge of the stream. There he and his animal again became stationary.

The rider was listening and looking. The eyes told him nothing, but a faint splashing noise, several times repeated, came to him. He interpreted it as meaning that the horseman whom he had seen was crossing the creek.

This of itself was of little importance, but Mendez accepted it as evidence that the whole band had done the same thing some time before, and the horseman was now on his way to rejoin them. So convinced indeed was Mendez on this point that he guided his animal carefully into the water and forded the stream, without searching out the place where Geronimo and his hostiles had also crossed.

CHAPTER XIV.
WAITING FOR DAYLIGHT.

Having emerged from the stream, Mendez rode down the bank, toward the ridge, where the hostiles had been first seen during the day. It will be remembered that he had now entered upon the bailiwick of Potter, the scout, who was engaged upon the same errand.

As before, the friendly Apache placed his main reliance upon his pony, who knew as well as his rider the delicate duty in hand.

The animal walked slowly, his hoofs sinking to the fetlocks in the soft sand, while the senses of both were at the highest point. To the surprise of Mendez he passed a full half mile without observing the slightest sign of his enemies. Then, as before, his animal stopped of his own accord.

The keenest scrutiny of the front and on every hand failed to show the cause of the abrupt stoppage of the horse, but he must have had a cause, for, as may be said, his action was controlled by an instinct approaching reason.

Several minutes passed without the appearance of anything to explain the situation, and then Mendez gently pressed one heel against the ribs of the pony, who resumed his walk, but stopped again after taking a dozen steps.

Some of the Apache horses must have been less trained than they should have been, for not one but two or three neighed upon discovering another of their species in their vicinity.

It was all sufficient; Mendez had located the band and he now turned his animal’s head in the other direction to report to Lieutenant Decker. At that moment several Apache horsemen burst into sight, dashing at full speed toward the scout, who, with a word sent his own animal flying toward camp.

The race was short and furious. Mendez was the better mounted and rapidly pulled away from his pursuers, who sent several bullets whistling after him and then drew off from the pursuit.

When convinced that the chase was over, Mendez checked his speed and turned slightly to the right, so as to draw away from the stream, which had been followed most of the time. He was not far from camp and haste was not necessary.

And again his horse made a discovery. He did not stop but slackened his pace, with ears erect and head turned to the right, toward the open plain.

The keen vision of the rider quickly saw the cause. A dark object was discerned on the sand, but was so indistinct that its nature could not be learned without a nearer approach.

The first thought was that it might be one of the hostiles, trying to steal upon the whites in this characteristic fashion. Mendez held his rifle ready to fire and gently urged his horse to advance. He seemed loath to obey, but did so, once more halting, after advancing a few paces.

That which the scout saw was the figure of a man prone and motionless in the sand. Studying him for some time, no change of position could be perceived. The pony was urged more sternly than before. As if aware that it was useless to disregard his master’s command, he snorted and then walked straight to the figure, not stopping until his owner checked him within twenty feet.

The form on the ground was that of Potter, the scout. He was lying on his face and did not move a muscle. There was good reason for this as was shown by the feather-tipped point of an arrow which projected from between his shoulders.

Mendez slipped from his steed and stooping over rolled the body on its back. The scout had been dead for some time, killed by an arrow driven with such terrific force into his back that the tip showed in front. While he was stealing upon his enemies he must have been discovered by one of them, without the knowledge of the scout. Although the Apaches are experts in the use of firearms, they are equally skillful in handling the bow and arrow, which, because of their noiselessness, sometimes serve their cruel purposes better than the more common weapon. They have often slain a white man within a few rods of his friends, without awaking suspicion, the twang of the bowstring being scarcely louder than a sudden puff of air.

With all his experience in scouting against those people, the white man had met his death at last through their superior cunning.

Mendez vaulted upon the back of his pony and a few minutes later rejoined his friends. The horse of Potter had arrived some time before, so that his companions were prepared for the news. Almost at the same moment, Martin came in with word that he had been unable to learn anything, which, in view of the fate of his comrade, was perhaps a fortunate thing for him.

One fact was evident: the Apaches had been as quick to detect the presence of the troopers as the latter were to discover them. None of the sentinels had observed any of the hostiles prowling in the neighborhood, but there could be no doubt that one or more of them had crept nigh enough to learn the truth.

“They are a half mile or so away,” remarked Lieutenant Decker to the leading scouts, whom he was always glad to consult; “and what is best to do?”

“If you will allow me,” remarked Freeman, “we can do nothing but wait for daylight, for the reason that it is impossible now to surprise them.”

“That is sensible,” commented Peyser, “they will be looking for us, and, if we make an attack in the moonlight, they will have the advantage.”

The lieutenant examined his watch. It was considerably past midnight. He was ready to lead a charge against the raiders, but it would have been unwise in view of what was already known. He assented to wait until sunrise.

“But it is well to make a change of base,” he said; “the Apaches, knowing we are here, will try to gain a shot at us.”

Inasmuch as there was little choice of location, the troopers took the singular course of riding out on the plain to the spot where the body of Potter, the scout, lay stretched in the sand. They could not abandon it, the intention being to take it back to the fort and give it Christian burial.

Men engaged upon such arduous work as the troopers snatch sleep and rest as the opportunity offers. The night was cool enough to make their blankets comfortable, and they were spread on the sand, while the hardy owners stretched out upon them, sinking almost immediately into deep, restful slumber. All the horses had been ridden hard and the rest was grateful to them, even though they suffered for food. Thus the scene was a curious one. With the exception of three sentinels, placed at some distance from camp, the entire company were unconscious.

But it need not be said that they slept on their arms, ready to leap to their feet and fight to the death at the first alarm. They had done it many a time before and always held themselves ready to do it again.

The sentinel to the north and the one to the south saw nothing to cause the slightest misgiving. They were extremely vigilant, for each realized that his own life, as well as the lives of his comrades might be sacrificed by a moment’s forgetfulness. If an Apache was permitted to steal nigh enough to launch his deadly arrow, he would thus open the way for a swift and deadly charge by his comrades.

Three times the guard placed between the camp and stream was on the point of firing his gun, but checked himself until his suspicion should become certainty. A faint ripple of water drew his attention to the creek, and he dimly saw a small dark object floating on the water. At first it appeared to be drifting with the current, but he fancied it was gradually working to the shore nearer to him.

“I believe it is the head of one of them,” was his thought; “as soon as he comes nigh enough I’ll let drive.”

But after floating down stream a considerable way, it disappeared. The sentinel was an intelligent and alert fellow, who did not allow his scrutiny to be diverted more than a moment from any point of the compass within his field of vision. He knew that one of the favorite tricks of the Apaches was to draw the attention of their enemies to some point while the real danger approached from the other.

A half hour later the soldier on duty saw precisely the same thing repeated. A small round object drifted with the current, but, so far as he could determine, it was working toward the further bank; but, as in the former case, it remained in the water until it passed from sight.

“I think I could hit it from here,” reflected the sentinel, “but it may be a piece of wood or something like that, and the boys need their rest so much that it’s a pity to wake them without good cause—well, I’ll be hanged!”

It was not in the water this time, but close to it that the suspicious object now showed itself. It looked as if the first one having effected a landing at a point down stream was stealing up again, with a view of approaching camp. To do this, it kept on the very margin of the current, where the slight depression of the sandy bank afforded a trifling protection, though not enough wholly to conceal it.