Ned then understood why the two scouts had taken pains to fill their canteens at the brook during the day, and why, also, they so religiously preserved the little lunch still remaining in their possession. It was to guard against just such a contingency.

As the sun approached the horizon, the lad seated himself upon a rocky protuberance and looked off over the surrounding country. To the west, the blue, misty outlines of a moderately high range of mountains shut off all further view.

"Just beyond that," he said to himself, as he fixed his eyes upon the elevation, "Tom tells me is Fort Havens, where father is waiting for me. If he only knew we were here, he might come to our relief. Wouldn't he scatter the redskins down there? But I don't know how he will find it out. Oh! if we were only among those mountains, it wouldn't take us long to go the rest of the way. I suppose the fort can be seen from their top."

To the south, a stratum of yellow vapor stretched for forty degrees along the horizon. There were no buffaloes there, but there had been, and it was the evidence of their passage. To the north, the view was broken by ridges, patches of wood, and curious irregularities of surface, but there was no sign of life among all, nor could it be detected except by peering over the edge of Hurricane Hill down upon the assembled besiegers below. He noticed that Tom Hardynge, shading his eyes with his hand, was gazing off with a fixed intensity in the direction of the mountains which intervened between them and Fort Havens. He said nothing, but there was a significance in his persistency which aroused the curiosity of the lad in no small degree. Could it be that his keen vision detected something tangible toward the setting sun, which was hidden from view by the mountain range? Or was it the mere searching for something upon which to hang his hopes?

Dick Morris was very differently occupied, acting, indeed, as if unaware that anyone else was upon the hill-top besides himself. Crawling to the edge, he was stretched out flat upon his face, his hat removed, while he peered stealthily downward upon the crowd below. Probably, he, too, was searching for something or somebody. There was so much meaning in his actions that the interest of the lad centered upon him, and he watched every motion.

The hunter fidgeted around for a few minutes, as if his posture was not exactly comfortable, and then hastily projecting his gun over the margin, he took a quick aim and fired, and then flinging the weapon aside, looked down again to see the result. All at once, he sprang to his feet, and stamped back toward the center of the plateau, in a terrific rage.

"Ain't it awful!" he exclaimed, adding a forcible expletive. "Did I ever make a bigger mistake?"

"What do you mean, Dick?"

"Hit the wrong skunk."

"How is that?" asked Tom, turning toward him.

"I've been figuring around for half an hour so as to draw a bead on Lone Wolf, and just as I pulled the trigger, I found I'd hit the wrong one. It's trying to one's feelings to be disappointed that way."

"I don't b'leve you'll get a chance at him," said Tom, as he seated himself and resumed his patient scrutiny of the western horizon.

However the scout was not quite in despair, and, reloading his piece, he returned to his position and resumed his watch. But the mistake he had made operated against him in every way. It apprised the Apaches of their danger from this sort of sharp-shooting, and the whole force fell back, while Lone Wolf, who was shrewd enough to know that his life was in special demand, made sure that he was out of range of those fatal rifles. Besides this, it was rapidly growing dark, and before Dick could gain any kind of a chance at all, the light was too dim to afford him the indispensable aim.

The hunters showed a business-like manner of doing things. As soon as it was fairly dark, Dick Morris gave up his hunt for Lone Wolf, and, remarking that there would be no fun until the morrow, rolled over and away from the margin, and was sound asleep within ten minutes.

"You'd better do the same," said Tom to the lad, as he left him alone, and moved down the incline to the position he intended to occupy while acting as sentinel during the first portion of the night.

Ned remained up a considerable time, when, as there seemed to be nothing going on of an alarming nature, he concluded to step out and do the same, if he could control his nerves enough to do so. He was both hungry and thirsty, but not to a very great degree, and as his companions said nothing about eating or drinking, he made up his mind to wait until the morrow. It was about an hour before he became entirely unconscious, but when he shut his eyes they were not opened until morning.

Before that time, however, Tom Hardynge became involved in a little difficulty. The point where he located was about half way between the base and top of Hurricane Hill. Here the path made such an abrupt bend that it was easy to conceal himself, and still keep a sharp watch upon any one coming from below. It was the hunter's belief that an attempt would be made by the Apaches to steal upon them before morning; for, while their enemies were ready to wait three or four days, or as long as was necessary, yet it was to be expected that they would prefer to force matters to a conclusion as speedily as possible. If they could crowd up to the top of the hill and overwhelm the fugitives, they were willing to incur the risk of losing several lives that they might do so. Accordingly, when he assumed his position it was with the expectation that there would be something on the carpet before long.

Nor was he disappointed. For two hours not the slightest sound reached his ears, and then a pebble softly rattled down the incline below him. There might have been no human agency in this slight occurrence, as the loose dÉbris was likely to do the same thing at any moment, but Tom believed that it was caused by the moccasin of an Apache stealing upward. He stealthily peeped around the edge of the rock, but nothing was to be seen. There was a moon in the sky, but its position was such that the path was thrown in shadow, and he could not have detected a man a dozen feet distant.

Fifteen minutes more passed and then the scout became certain that an Indian was stealing up the path toward him. It was a wonder how the thing could be done, without sending streams of gravel and pebbles rattling to the bottom. Hardynge straightened up, still peering around in the gloom.

The moments wore away and still he was able to detect that soft, faint gliding, as if a rattlesnake were getting into a position to strike its prey. By and by—yes, he could now make out the crouching figure approaching through the darkness and he drew back lest he should be seen. Nearer and nearer it drew, while he remained as motionless as the solid rock beside him. Finally, after great delay it stood opposite.

At the very instant it was passing the hand of Tom Hardynge shot straight out with lightning-like quickness and force, and the knife clutched in his iron-like grasp did its duty well. No outcry proclaimed the deed. There was only a gasp and all was over. The moment it was done the hunter straightened up and listened.

"Mebbe there's another behind him."

But the most patient, careful listening failed to detect anything, and, leaving the body lying where it had fallen, he went noiselessly to the top where Dick was sleeping. A gentle touch aroused the latter and he instantly rose to his feet. A few words told him all that had happened and then the two hurriedly discussed the scheme which had occurred to Hardynge a short time before. Two minutes only were needed for them to reach a conclusion.

"I'll do it," muttered Tom, as they arose and began picking their way down the path.