Dick Morris, stretched out full length upon the top of Hurricane Hill, peering down in the impenetrable gloom, understood all that had passed. There was no mistaking that yell of Tom Hardynge; he had heard it many a time before in the heat of conflict, and it generally meant something.

"Go it, old chap!" he shouted, swinging his hat over his head, as he saw the whole thing in his imagination. "Them 'ere pistol-barks show there's been some bitin' done. Business is business."

He noted, too, the sounds of the mustang's hoofs growing fainter and fainter, until the strained ears could detect them no longer. Tom Hardynge had safely passed through the Apache lines. It was a daring and desperate feat indeed, but it had succeeded to perfection. Nothing now remained to hinder his flight direct to Fort Havens.

"I rather think somebody's mad," exulted Dick, who was fully as proud over the exploit of his comrade as was Tom himself. "There ain't much doubt but what there'll be lively times here before long. They know there's only two of us, counting in the little chap, and they'll make a rush. Let 'em do it. If they can get up by that corner where the other fellow dropped they're welcome, that's all."

And with this conclusion he left the top of the hill and picked his way down the path, until he reached the spot where he had parted from his comrade. Here he stooped down with the purpose of picking up the body of the warrior and flinging it down upon the heads of those below. To his astonishment, it was gone!

He searched around for several minutes, venturing to descend some distance, but it was missing.

"I don't think he could have got up and walked away," said the hunter, as he scratched his head over the occurrence. "No, it couldn't have been that, for Tom don't strike any such blows any more than I do."

It followed, then, as a matter of course, that after the discovery of the trick, some brother Apache had stolen his way up the path and removed the body, a proceeding which Dick Morris hardly suspected until he was really compelled to believe it.

"If I'd only knowed he was coming," he growled, "how I would have lammed him; but he's come and gone, and there ain't any use in cryin' over it."

He waited and listened carefully, and once or twice a slight rattling of the gravel caused him to suspect that some of the redskins were attempting to steal upon him; but if such were the case, they must have contented themselves by not approaching within striking distance.

Finally the night wore away, and the dull light of morning began stealing over the prairie. As soon as objects could be distinguished, he returned to his position upon the top of the rock and made his observations.

Little, if any, change was discernible in the disposition of the besieging Indians. Their horses were gathered at some distance, where the grass was quite rank. The warriors had assumed all the indolent attitudes which are seen in a body of men that have more time at their disposal than they know what to do with. They had shifted their position so far back that they were beyond good rifle range; for although a hunter like Dick Morris could have picked off a redskin nine times out of ten, yet he could not "pick his man." Lone Wolf had attired himself precisely as were the rest of his warriors, and at the distance it was impossible to distinguish him from them, so the scout wisely concluded to hold his fire until he could be certain of his target.

As soon as it was fairly light, Dick naturally turned his eyes off toward the southwest, in the direction of the hills, whither his comrade had fled during the night.

"He is gone," he muttered, when he had made certain that no object was to be seen. "I might have knowed that before I looked, 'cause the hoss knows how to travel, and Tom's made him do his purtiest."

"Hello! what's the news?"

The query came from Ned Chadmund, who had aroused himself from slumber, and was standing at his side.

"Where is Tom?"

"About fifty miles off yonder, goin' like a streak of greased lightnin' for Fort Havens."

"What?"

Whereupon Dick Morris explained. Of course the lad was astounded to think that all this had taken place while he was dreaming of home and friends, and he hardly knew whether to rejoice or to be alarmed at the shape matters had just then taken. True, Tom Hardynge was speeding away on his fleet-footed mustang for Fort Havens, but it would take a long time to reach there and return. There was something startling in the thought that a man and a boy were all that were left to oppose the advance of the force of the Apaches from below. What was to prevent their swarming upward and overwhelming them? Nothing, it may be said, but the strong arm of Dick Morris. He might have been a Hercules, and still unable to stem the tide, but for the vast advantage given him by nature in constructing Hurricane Hill. He could be approached by the enemy only in single file. Dick, however, was of the opinion that something of the kind would be attempted, for the Apaches could not but know the errand of him who had so nicely outwitted them.

"Ain't there some way of blocking up the way?" asked Ned, as they discussed the plan.

"I've been thinkin' it over, and there is," returned Morris, crossing his legs, and scratching his head in his thoughtful way. "Three years ago, me and Kit Carson had to scoot up here to get out of the reach of something like two hundred Comanches, under that prime devil Valo-Velasquiz. They shot Kit's horse, and mine dropped dead just as we reached the bottom of the hill, so we couldn't do anythin' more in the way of hoss-flesh.

"Them Comanches hated Kit and me like pison; they knowed us both, and they went for us in a way that made us dance around lively; but it was no go, and we tumbled 'em back like tenpins, but they kept things so hot that me and Kit tipped over a big rock in the path. Of course they could climb that easy enough, but it gave us so much more chance that they didn't try it often, and they fell back and tried the Apache dodge—waiting until hunger and thirst made us come down."

"How was it you got out of the trouble?"

"It was in a mighty queer way—a mighty queer way. On the next day arter the brush we had with 'em, a bigger party than ever came up, and we calc'lated things were goin' to be redhot. But as soon as the two parties jined, some kind of a rumpus took place. We could see 'em talkin' in the most excited way, and a high old quarrel was under way. Kit Carson knowed all about Injins, but he couldn't make out what all this meant. We was in hope they'd git into a wrangle themselves, and swaller each other, and I can tell you they came mighty nigh it.

"Just as it begun to look as if it was goin' that way, one of their chiefs walked forward, swingin' a dirty rag on the end of his ramrod as a flag of truce. Kit looked at him very closely, and then exclaimed that it was Quizto, a great rival of Valo-Velasquiz. They were always at swords points, and whichever happened to have the strongest party at his back when they met, outranked the other. The beauty of it all was that Quizto was a friend all his life to Kit Carson—a regular redskin friend, who was ready to scalp all his brothers and sisters if they tried to harm him—and when he came to learn that Kit was treed, he swore that he'd burn at the stake any Injun that laid a straw in his way.

"This made a time, and, as I's tellin' you, the biggest kind of a fight. At one time it only lacked a word to set it a-goin'; but Quizto's braves stood by him, every one, and the others had to knock under.

"When Quizto come forward with his flag of truce, he called out to Kit and told him that he was at liberty to go wherever he chose without harm; but as Valo-Velasquiz would be so disappointed, he thought Carson would turn over his friend, who wasn't of much account, that they might have the pleasure of torturing him to death. That was lovely for me, and you ought to have heard Kit laugh. He told Quizto that he couldn't do that—both would go or stay together. That made another wrangle, but the friendship of the chief to Carson saved the lives of us both. He wouldn't consent that the guide should run the least risk, and they told us to come down and clear out. We expected a big fight, for Valo-Velasquiz had some ugly men with him, and he was a regular devil himself; but when we got to the bottom, there was two mustangs awaitin', and we straddled 'em, and warn't long in leavin' those parts. Old Valo-Velasquiz and a dozen of his warriors tried to sneak along after us, but we was as well mounted as they, and we rode into Santa Fe without tradin' rifle shots with any of 'em. That was a strange thing, but," added the scout, significantly, "I don't think you've got any Quizto among them skunks down there."