Up to this stage the two hunters had found no opportunity to pay much heed to Ned, who had been rescued so narrowly from horrible cruelty. Tom Hardynge now advanced to where he stood, and thrust out his hand, his face one broad grin.

"How are ye, my lad? We've had a long tramp for ye, and come mighty nigh bein' too late."

"Have you been looking for me?" asked the boy, in amazement.

"Yes, sir, we've been on the hunt for some days."

"How is that?"

Dick Morris briefly explained how Colonel Chadmund had received warning through a friendly Indian runner of the projected massacre of the cavalry escort. Knowing that it was impossible to forward reinforcements to them in time, and that Lone Wolf was aiming specially to get his hands upon his little boy, he had sent Dick post-haste with orders to intercept Tom, if possible, and both had been instructed to secure possession of the lad by any possible means in their power.

After a cautious investigation at the outset, when they arrived at Devil's Pass, they found that the massacre had taken place almost twenty-four hours before. The sight was a terrible one, such as made even them shudder. The horses and soldiers lay scattered here and there, just as they fell. The beasts of the forest had offered them no disturbance, probably because there were more inviting feasts elsewhere. But in the warm summer air the bloody, hacked faces were discolored and swollen beyond recognition. The hunters rode carefully along, and counted the whole thirteen, and when they found the overturned and wrecked ambulance and the dead horse a short distance beyond they were able to hit the right theory. It was in this carriage that young Chadmund had been riding when he was captured, and the scouts set out at once upon the trail of the Apache war-party.

It was all easy enough to follow the warriors, but Tom and Dick were hopelessly puzzled when they came up with the redskins, saw Lone Wolf and his brother warriors, and made the discovery that the boy was not with them. It was a most trying problem to them—the only solution being that they had grown impatient with the boy and put him to death; and yet, as the trail had been followed and narrowly watched, it seemed impossible that such a thing should have taken place without the pursuers finding it out before this. Dick Morris suggested that the captive, by some providential interference, had managed to give them the slip, but Tom could not believe it among the possibilities. If such were the case, there were no means of learning when or where it had been done, and the scouts were as completely cut off from pursuit of the boy as were the Apaches themselves.

In this dilemma there was little to do except to make a general hunt for him, keeping all the time within striking distance of the Apaches, as they did not think that the fugitive could have gotten very far from them. The hunters carefully secreted their animals, and tramped over the mountains and through ravines, gorges, and woods, until, on this eventful forenoon they discovered Lone Wolf ahead of them, acting as though he had detected something particularly gratifying. The shrewd scouts suspected the truth on the instant. The Apache was also searching for the lad, and, guided by a greater knowledge, had discovered him. And so he crouched down in the rocks, not knowing that two other figures shortly after crouched behind him. Then, after the story had been told, as the three moved off together, Dick Morris having picked up the rifle which Lone Wolf cast from him as the contest was about to open, Ned Chadmund gave him his version of that terrible attack and slaughter in Devil's Pass, and of what had followed since. When he came to explain the clever manner in which he dodged the Apaches, his listeners were delighted. Dick slapped him upon the back, and Tom insisted upon shaking hands again. It was a favorite way the old fellow had of expressing his overwhelming delight at anything he saw or heard.

"If you'll put yourself under our trainin'," he added, "we'll make a hunter of ye in the course of a dozen or fifteen years, more or less."

But Ned had no interest in hunting matters just then. He wanted to get out of that dangerous neighborhood, and to reach Fort Havens with as little delay as possible.

"How far is it?" he asked, as the trio moved along the trail.

"We can make it in two or three days, I think," said Tom. "Some parts of the way, though, is rather rough, and it may take us longer."

"You don't expect to walk it, do you?"

They assured him that they had no intention of doing any such thing. Their horses were secreted in a gorge about three miles distant, and as soon as they could be reached they would mount them and speed away for Fort Havens.

"And we'll do it, too, at a gait that'll beat any mustang that Lone Wolf has ever straddled," added Dick, exultingly. "When a chap goes into the Injun country, he must fetch the best hoss flesh he can steal."

"But I haven't any horse," said Ned, with a laugh. "What's to become of me when you're riding?"

Tom explained that there could be no difficulty about that. Such a trifling additional weight would not be suspected by either of the animals.

"Where do you suppose Lone Wolf is?" asked the boy, looking furtively around, unable to free himself of the belief that they were not through with him yet.

"He's gone back to his party; they've split since you left 'em. About thirty started yesterday forenoon for the Apache villages to the south'ard, and the tother twenty are in camp off here a mile or so."

As Tom spoke, he pointed to the west, in among the mountains, and in a direction at right angles to what he was pursuing himself.

"Our road twists round a little," he added, "and when we get to where we left the animals, we'll be 'bout as far away from the Apaches as we are now. What's better, there's some mighty rough travelin' between us and them, such as no hosses can git over."

"But Indians can, can't they?"

"I rather guess so. What's the matter, my boy?" asked Tom, looking down upon him as they picked along. "You're talkin' as if you was thinkin' 'bout Injuns all the time."

"That's what I've had to do for the last three or four days. Lone Wolf managed to get away from you, and where do you think he is? What do you think he means to do?"

As the boy asked this question, he glanced around in such a timid, apprehensive way, that his companions laughed. It was natural that the lad should have these misgivings, especially as it seemed to him that his friends were using no precautions at all to prevent a treacherous surprise upon the part of the Apaches. To relieve his fears, they convinced him that they were on the alert, and did not fail to note everything.

They expected, in the natural course of events, that Lone Wolf would make all haste back to camp, and take every means of revenging himself and securing possession of the boy again. Indeed, this was all he could do. He had no rifle with which to fire a stealthy shot at them, and it was necessary that he should first return to his warriors before striking a blow. To do all this required time sufficient to permit the three to reach the gorge, mount their animals, and get fairly under way before he and his warriors could possibly put in an appearance. Tom and Dick, therefore, could not be accused of undue recklessness in taking matters in such a leisurely fashion. They assured their young friend still further that they were on the eastern margin of the prairie, and, after starting with their mustangs, had a clear, open course before them.

It was somewhat past noon when they entered the ravine, which had already been described to Ned, and, while the latter remained to talk with Morris, Tom moved on further and down in a more secluded place, in quest of their mustangs, which had been left grazing upon the rich, succulent grass, beside a running stream of mountain water. All were in high spirits, and our hero was as buoyant and cheerful as the others, when they saw their friend returning empty-handed.

"What's up?" asked Dick.

"The Injuns have stole our mustangs!"

"Sure?"

"Yes—plenty of moccasin tracks—but not cussed sign of a single hoss," was the sour reply.