Ned Chadmund was too terrified to think of further sleep, nor did he dare to return to where he had been lying upon the blanket when aroused in such a startling manner. As he turned his horrified gaze in that direction, he saw the two combatants clutching and striking each other upon the ground, their blows growing feebler as their strength rapidly departed. The most alarming thing about this revolting contest was the fact that it did not attract the interest of a single spectator beyond the little fellow. There were plenty of Indians around, some of whom were within a dozen feet, and yet they paid no more attention to it than if the two were quietly smoking their pipes.

This showed, as a matter of course, the indifference of the others as to what befell the defenseless prisoner. The next Indian who advanced upon him with drawn knife would not be so likely to find himself disputed by another, anxious to perform the same job. It seemed certain that no one would interfere in the interests of the prisoner himself.

The latter stood debating what he should do, if, indeed, he could do anything at all. He turned his head and looked back in the gloom, which appeared so inviting that he was tempted to turn and make a dash for freedom. If he could only secure a start of a hundred yards, it seemed to him that he might escape. That would give him a chance to steal away and hide until he could renew his flight, with a prospect of eluding them altogether. He glanced at the darkness and then again at the Apaches. Not a single one of them, so far as he could see, showed any consciousness of his presence, and none were between him and the gloom in which he meant to take shelter.

His heart throbbed with excitement as he stood debating the question, and he hurriedly concluded to make the attempt. But on the eve of starting, his straining vision detected the faintest shadowy outline of a figure, which silently receded in the gloom as he looked toward it. Ned understood on the instant what this meant. It was Lone Wolf who was waiting to receive him, whenever he should choose to make his attempt to get away.

The whole trick flashed upon him at once. Lone Wolf, with a view of thoroughly testing the lad, had purposely thrown this opportunity in his way, and was waiting beyond in the gloom to receive him with open arms. Poor Ned's heart sank as he realized more vividly than ever that he was as much a prisoner as if immured within the walls of Sing Sing. Still, he affected not to notice the presence of the sentinel, but walked back toward the camp with that affectation of indifference which he had used on more than one occasion before. He recollected this time to put on the limp—his lameness being of such a decided character that there could be no mistaking it by any one who happened to look in that direction.

"Never mind, I'll get the chance yet," he muttered, putting himself upon his mettle. "I'll play lame till they think there is no need of watching me at all, and then, before they know it, I'll be off."

The knowledge that Lone Wolf was so near at hand gave him enough courage to go back to where the blanket lay, and seat himself upon it. He had sat thus but a few minutes, when he noticed that it was growing light in the East. The night was gone and day was breaking.

"I'm glad of it, for I'm tired of this place," he exclaimed. "I'll never get any chance to do anything for myself here."

Before it was fairly light, the Apaches began their preparations for leaving the scene of their encampment. Their mustangs were picketed at some distance up the stream, under charge of a couple of sentinels, where they had not been disturbed during the entire night.

"I wonder if they'll give me a horse?" was the next thought of Ned, as he watched these preparations.

In a few minutes all were mounted upon their animals, which seemed in a splendid condition. Among them were three that had belonged to the cavalry, and which were easily identified by means of the saddles, bridles and accoutrements. Ned hoped that one of these would be placed at his disposal, and he looked around for the chief only to find him at his elbow.

"You walk or ride?" he asked, his painted countenance as cold and hard as steel.

"That depends upon you," replied Ned, "but I do hope you will let me ride upon somebody's horse for this is mighty rough, I can tell you," and he emphasized his complaint by limping, apparently with great pain, for a few steps. The chief looked at him very sharply for a few seconds, and then showed that he believed him, if indeed, he held any doubt at all. He motioned to one of the warriors who was leading a captive horse, which was brought immediately to the spot. The stirrups were shortened, so as to be in place for the boy's feet when he was helped into the saddle.

"Oh! my leg! my leg!" he screamed, with an expression of intense agony, when, actually, he felt not a particle of pain; "it seems to me, you would rather hurt a chap than not."

No attention was paid to his complaint, and a minute later the whole cavalcade was in motion.

The boy was a skillful horseman, having been taught to ride from the time he could walk, and he found himself astride of one of the best steeds that had belonged to the cavalry, although he could not identify it. As he looked about him and examined the saddle, he caught sight of the handle of a revolver in the holster, jammed down in such a way that it had escaped the notice of their captors.

"That's to be mine," he whispered to himself, not a little pleased at the discovery he had made.

He knew if this caught the eye of Lone Wolf or any of his warriors they would not permit him to retain it, and he was so fearful that they would see it that he began maneuvering with a view of getting it into his possession. No one is more skillful at this sort of business than a boy about his age. Ned groaned, and twisted forward and backward, as if to seek relief, and when he finally secured a little more comfort and resumed his upright position the revolver was safely hid beneath his waistcoat, he having placed it there without attracting the eye of any one. The little fellow felt braver on the instant. He suspected that if he encountered Lone Wolf alone, and the chieftain dared to bar his passage, he could use the revolver upon him with the same coolness that Corporal Hugg would have done had he been alive.

"None of them suspect that I've got such a thing about me, and that gives me the better chance," was his very sensible conclusion, as he endeavored to put on an expression of blissful serenity.

When the sun was fairly up, the fifty Apache warriors were galloping in a direct line toward the south, Lone Wolf at their head, and Ned Chadmund riding at his side. The lad had made several inquiries of his leader, but the latter repelled him so savagely that he wisely held his peace. He supposed the Indians were going southward toward their village. He remembered hearing his father speak of Lone Wolf as dwelling pretty well to the southward, and that he had pronounced him to be one of the most dangerous leaders among the fierce tribes of the Southwest.

The Apaches were now in a mountainous region, following a sort of trail that was generally wide enough to permit a dozen to ride abreast if they wished to do so. Occasionally it was rough and precipitous, winding in and out, and now and then difficult to travel; but the wiry little mustangs went along as unhesitatingly as mountain goats. Although they were among the mountains, at times the air was oppressively hot, not a particle of breeze reaching them.

It was little past noon when the party drew rein in a place very similar to that wherein they encamped the night before. As the mustangs came to a halt, their riders leaped to the ground, and, turning them over to the care of a half dozen of their number, they refreshed themselves at a stream running near at hand, the water of which was clear and cold, and equally inviting to man and beast. Ned climbed down from his horse, apparently with great difficulty and pain.

"May I go and get a drink?" he asked of Lone Wolf.

"Go," was the savage reply; "am I a dog to help you?"

"No; you're a dog without helping me," muttered the lad as he limped away toward the wood, seeking a point a short distance below where the others were helping themselves.

It took but a minute to reach a spot where for the time he was beyond observation.

"The hour has come to make a stroke for freedom!" he exclaimed, suiting the action to the word.