We have already seen that Sam was cool and brave, and such characters but rarely act from impulse. Yet there are times when impulse is more effective than all the calm reasoning in the world, and this was one of them.

On the way to the spring with Blanco, Sam felt very nervous. He did not have much faith in the chief's profession of friendship for the whites, and from what he remembered of Hank Tims' stories about the Apaches, he believed them to be a very treacherous and bloodthirsty people.

But the sight of Ulna, prostrate and bound, scattered all Sam's fears and indecision to the winds.

"This is my friend!" he shouted as he sprung to Ulna's side and drew his own hunting-knife.

"Hold! He is a Ute and my foe!" roared the chief.

But neither his words nor his movements could stay Sam Willett, who was now blind to everything but the condition of his brave friend.

Two rapid flashes of the knife, and the cords that bound Ulna's hands and feet were severed.

Ike and Wah Shin trembled at the audacity of their young leader.

Even Blanco and his braves were speechless and helpless for the moment, and looked from one to the other, as if wondering what this extraordinary young white man would do next.

They had not long to wonder, for Ulna, in the very second that he was freed, sprang to his feet, leaped at the nearest Indian, who chanced to hold the repeating-rifle that had been taken from himself the night before, and tearing it from his grasp, he bounded up the ravine before a hand could be raised to stay him.

"Shoot! shoot!" cried the chief when he could regain his breath.

"Don't fire!" shouted Sam as, with his own gun raised, he sprang directly in front of the Apaches.

They did not fire, perhaps because it would have been useless, for before they had fully realized the order of the chief and why it was called out, the fleet-footed Ulna had vanished up the rift.

Blanco shouted for the braves to pursue, and on the instant four of the youngest and most active leaped forward, like blood-hounds freed from the leash.

With yells that frightened the dog and made him crouch behind Ike, the Apaches started up the ravine.

Sam was about to follow them, but the chief caught him by the shoulder and said sternly:

"You do heap harm. Stay!"

Meanwhile, Ulna had gained the upland, with his face turned toward the sun, now flashing over the crests of the Sierra Madre Mountains.

The cruel cords had cut into his wrists and ankles, and the strained position in which he had been held so many hours had stiffened his limbs; but, absorbed in the battle for his own life, he forgot or did not feel his pain.

On gaining the upland, he halted for an instant to pull his cap lower and to tighten his belt; then, as he heard the blood-curdling yells behind him, he started off again, running this time straight for the mountains to the east.

He looked back for an instant, to see the four Apaches rising into view from the rift.

He had about two hundred yards the lead, and he very wisely made up his mind not to increase it.

As a tribe, the Utes have ever prided themselves on the speed and endurance of their runners.

They begin to practice as children, and they are taught to stop at no obstacle and not to vary their speed, whether facing or descending a hill.

They keep the lips firmly closed, breathing altogether through the nostrils, and the arms, or at least the elbows, are kept firmly pressed to the sides, the hands being advanced at right angles to the body and the fingers shut, like a boxer's fist.

An observer, seeing Ulna's light, springy bound and the absence of all effort, would have been charmed with the grace of the youth's movements, but would have felt that he was not getting over the ground very fast, while his pursuers appeared to be flying; and they were certainly straining every nerve.

But Ulna's feet were on his native heath, and he knew that his safety depended on reserving his strength, rather than exhausting himself by a mighty effort at the start.

The four runners behind him discharged their rifles, but the bullets whistled harmlessly by his ears.

They yelled, and he heard them with a feeling of delight, for he well knew that men cannot run fast and yell very loud at the same time.

Still the Apaches seemed to gain on him, till his lead was reduced to not more than fifty yards, and he could hear their loud explosive breathings behind him.

Gradually three of the young braves began to lessen their speed and drop to the rear, while one appeared to gain at every bound on the fugitive.

After running for more than hour, Ulna threw a quick glance over his shoulder and took in this state of affairs.

His heart bounded with delight at the prospect, but he neither increased nor lessened his speed. His movements seemed to be as even and tireless as the flight of the mountain eagles circling above his head.

Another half hour and he looked back again. Only one man was in sight, and he was not more than a hundred feet away.

Quick as a flash Ulna came to a halt, wheeled and fired. The Apache threw up his arms and fell senseless at the feet of the young Ute.

Here Ulna's training in the missionary school at Taos came into play.

His natural impulse would have led him to make sure work, and tear the black scalp from the head of his foe, but his heart was touched with pity rather than hate, and now that his pursuer was harmless he might help him, if he was not fatally wounded.

He examined the Apache's wound, and found that the bullet had struck his head without breaking his skull.

"He will come to himself after a while," said Ulna, as he drew his foe to the shadow of a rock and placed his back against it.

But while prompted to this act of humanity, Ulna did not permit his heart to interfere with his head. According to all the rules of civilized warfare, the arms of an enemy belong to his conqueror, so he took the Apache's pistol and ammunition-belt, which also contained his long, keen scalping-knife.

These he fastened on his own person, and had scarcely finished when the wounded brave opened his eyes and looked about him in a dazed way. As soon as he saw Ulna he closed his eyes again and began to chant in a low solemn voice the death-song of his tribe.

He was in the power of his foe, and as he could not give mercy himself, for he did not know of such a thing, he expected that the Ute would put him to death, and his song told that he was ready to meet it without fear.

"Listen to me," said Ulna, laying his hand on the Apache's shoulder and speaking in a firm but kindly tone. "I am a Ute, but the whites have taught me to hate no man because of his tribe. Your life is your own; take it and make your way back to your friends who have lagged in the race, and tell them that the nephew of Uray does not hate nor kill the helpless."

"But I am an Apache. I have forfeited my life. I would take yours if I could. Why stay your hand? This is not the warfare that our fathers practised," said the astonished Apache.

"No, nor shall I ever practice such a warfare. Yet for the life I spare I would ask a favor."

"What is it?"

"Return to Blanco and tell him that the people now in his hands mean no harm. Tell him that if he guides them to Hurley's Gulch he will be well paid. Tell him that if he harms them, the whites will make war, nor stay their hands while there is an Apache left in the Mogollon Mountains."

With the last word Ulna waved his hand to the brave and sped away again to the eastward with the same tireless spring.

Ulna was miles away when the three Apaches, who had started out with the wounded man, made their appearance.

"Where is the Ute?" they asked.

"Gone," was the reply.

"And your arms?"

"They are gone, too."

"Who took them?"

"The Ute."

"Why then did he not take your life and your scalp?" they asked in great surprise.

"He stunned me with a shot which I was not expecting; but he stunned me more when he refused the death I was expecting," said the brave.