Kneeling behind their rocky barrier the two men silently peered into the darkness down the hill. The great ledge of rock under which they were hiding concealed from their view the burning fires of the Indians down in the roadway to the east. But the reflection of the fire could be plainly seen on the rocks and trees on the north side of the Pass. Here and there stray beams of light shot through the firs and cedars and stunted oaks that lay below them among the bowlders; and somewhere down among these little trees, watchful Jim declared that he had seen something white moving cautiously and stealthily to and fro. Pike closely questioned him, whispering his inquiries so as not to catch the ears of Kate or the children, but Jim stoutly declared that he could not be mistaken. He had marked it twice, moving from place to place, before he had quit his post and called to the corporal to come and verify for himself what he was sure he had seen. For a few moments Pike thought that it might be the Apache sentinel who had, possibly, left his position on the little hill across the road, and was seeking on his own account some clue to the whereabouts of the fugitives from the camp. Pike had seen one or two Indians running up the road to where the sentinel was stationed in order to give him some of the plunder which they had taken from the wagon, and it was now so dark that he could no longer see objects out on the plain, and, as he could hear approaching horsemen just as well on this side of the road as on that, it was quite possible that this Indian was the cause of Jim's warning.

Several minutes passed without either of them seeing anything. Then suddenly Jim's hand was placed on the corporal's arm, and in a low, tremulous voice he whispered: "Look! Look!"

Following with his eyes the direction indicated by Jim's hand, Pike could just see, probably two hundred or two hundred and fifty yards away down the hillside, something dirty white in color, very slowly and very stealthily creeping from one bowlder to another. The tops and crests of the trees and bowlders, as has been said, were tinged by the light of the fires still burning down in the roadway. The Indian yells were gradually ceasing as, one after another, seemingly overcome by the liquor that they had been drinking, they subsided into silence. A number of them, however, still kept up their monotonous dance, varied every now and then by a yell of triumph; but the uproar and racket was not to be compared with what had been going on during the torture to which Manuelito had been subjected before they had mercifully, though most horribly, put an end to his sufferings.

Nothing but the embers of the wagon and the unconsumed iron work, of course, now remained in the road. Pike judged too that the ambulance had been burned, and that nothing remained of that. But all thought as to what was going on among the Indians in the Pass was now of little account as compared with the immediate presence of this object below him. Could it be one of the Apaches? Could it be the sentinel from the other side? Its stealthy movements and the noiseless way in which it seemed to flit from rock to rock gave color to his supposition, and yet it appeared unnatural to Pike that any one of the Indians should separate himself from his comrades and go on a still hunt in the dead of the night for traces of their hated foes.

"I cannot see it now," whispered Jim. "Where is he gone?"

"Behind that big rock that you see touched by the firelight down yonder. Our trail is just about half way. Look! There it is again! Nearer, too, by fifty yards. I wish he'd get on top of one of those bowlders where the light would strike him. Then we might make him out. By Jove! He's coming up the hill. Whatever you do, don't fire. I'll tend to him."

With straining eyes they watched the strange, stealthy approach of the mysterious object. Every now and then it would totally disappear from sight and then, a moment or two afterwards, could again be dimly seen, crouching along beside some big rock or emerging behind the thick branches of some stunted tree. Nearer it came until Pike was sure it must have reached the "trail" they had made in their journeys up and down the hill.

"I never saw an Apache that could move about in the dark as quickly as that fellow. Jim, by Jimminy, I'll bet it's no Indian at all!"

"What is it, then?" muttered Jim, whose teeth would chatter a little. He had all a darkey's dread of "spooks" and was more afraid of a possible ghost than an actual Tonto.

"That's a lynx or a wild-cat, man! They have a dingy white coat to their backs, in places at least, and you've only stirred up some mighty small game. See here, Jim, you're getting nervous. I'll have to call Ned out here with his little Ballard to take your place if you are going to—There! What did I tell you?"

A heap of fresh fuel—probably dry cedar boughs—had just been thrown on the coals by some of the determined dancers down in the road and a broad glare of firelight illumined the Pass. Again the rocks and trees down in front of the cave were brilliantly tinged, and, as though determined to have a good look at these strange "goings on," there suddenly leaped from the darkness and appeared in view upon the flat top of one of the biggest bowlders a little four-footed creature gazing with glowing eyes upon the scene below.

"There's your Indian, James, my boy," softly laughed Pike and, turning, he called back into the cave:

"Ned, are you asleep?"

"No," was the prompt answer. "Do you want me, Pike?"

"Come here and I'll show you a pretty shot for your Ballard."

Ned was at his side in an instant, bringing his little rifle with him, and the old soldier pointed down the hill.

"That's what Jim took for an Apache," he said.

"So did you, Pike; you needn't try to make fun of me," was Jim's answer, half surly, half glad, because his fears were now removed.

"Is it a panther?" whispered Ned. "Oh!—can't I take a pop at him?"

"Not a shot. It would simply be telling those blackguards where we were hiding and spoil all the fun I expect to have in the morning. That's no panther; they have a tawny hide; but it's the biggest catamount or wild-cat I ever set eyes on. Now go back to Kate, bundle up in your blankets and keep warm and go to sleep. Jim and I stand guard to-night."

And, obediently, the boy crept away. Pike looked after him with moistening eyes—all his jovial, half-laughing manner changing in an instant.

"God bless the little man! He's as brave and plucky as a boy could be, and hasn't so much as whimpered once," muttered the ex-corporal to himself. "What would I not give to know where his father was this night!"

Then he turned to Jim who had somewhat sulkily drawn away to the other end of the little parapet.

"Come back, Jim, my boy. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," he said. "You were perfectly right in keeping such close watch on everything and anything the least suspicious and I was wrong if I ridiculed it. Now we've got to divide the night between us. You lie down at once and go to sleep. I'll keep guard till one or half past; then you relieve me until daybreak."

And Jim, nothing loth, crept back towards the glowing coals and rolled himself in his heavy blanket, leaving the old corporal to his solitary reflections, and these were of a character so gloomy, so full of anxiety and dread, that one only marvels how he was able to keep up, before Kate and the children, the appearance of jollity and confidence that had marked throughout this trying day his whole demeanor.

"I would give anything to know where the captain is to-night!" again he muttered as his weary eyes gazed over the jagged hillside below him. The Indian fires were waning again and the gleams of light on rock and tree were growing fainter and fainter. The sounds of savage revelry, too, were more subdued, though a hoarse, monotonous chant came up from below. As has been said, Pike's watch-tower and fortress was fully a quarter of a mile south of the road and about a third of a mile from the abandoned camp, but in the absolute silence that reigned in every other quarter the sounds from the Apache war-dance in that clear mountain air were almost distinctly audible. The awful groans and cries of Manuelito were still ringing in his ears, and, to himself, the old soldier confessed that his nerve was not a little tried by the fearful sights and sounds of the early evening. It was poor preparation for the fight that he felt morally certain would speedily follow the rising of the morrow's sun, but Pike had been through too many an Indian war and in too many tight places before to "lose his grip," as he expressed it, now.

"If I only had those poor little kids safe with their father nothing would suit me better than to be here with four or five of the old 'Troop' and let the whole of the Apache nation try to rout me out," he said to himself. "Even as it is, I'm bloodthirsty enough now, after what I've seen and heard to-night, to be impatient for their attack. By gad! we've got a surprise in store for them if only Jim don't get stampeded."

Turning to listen for sounds from his little garrison, Pike could distinguish two that were audible and that prevailed above all or any others: Kate was tearfully moaning and praying aloud; Jim placidly snoring.

"That nigger could lie down and go to sleep, by thunder, if he knew the world was coming to an end in less than an hour. I'll have to watch here till nearly dawn and have the strongest coffee I can brew all ready for him or he'll be going to sleep on his post and letting those hounds crawl right upon us. Coffee's a good idea! I'll have some myself."

So saying the veteran stole back into the cave, noiselessly filled the battered coffee-pot and set it on the coals, said a few reassuring words to Kate and begged her to remember him in her prayers, laughed at her doleful and despairing reply and returned to his post.

All quiet. Even the wild-cat had disappeared and there was now no longer light by which he could have detected the creature. Pike almost wished he hadn't gone, for, as he grimly said, the fellow might have been good company and kept him from getting sleepy. Little by little the Indian chant was getting drowsy and the weird dancers, some of the younger braves, tired of the sport when there were neither admiring squaws or approving old chiefs to look on. The chiefs in this case, of course, had consumed the greater portion of the whiskey and were now sleeping off its soporific effects, and the youngsters could only remain where they were, keep watch and ward against surprise, and make no move in any direction until their elders should be themselves again, unless the sudden coming of enemies should compel them to rouse their leaders from their drunken slumbers and skip like so many goats for the highest parts of the mountain.

Looking at his watch as he sipped his tin of coffee Pike noticed that it was now eleven o'clock. "Oh, if I only knew that all was well with the captain," he muttered. "And if I only knew where Sieber and the cavalry were to-night."

Not until after two o'clock in the morning did the old soldier decide that it was time to "turn over the command" and seek a little rest himself. He knew that he would not be half fit for the responsibilities of the coming day unless he could get a few hours' sleep, and as Jim had now been snoring uninterruptedly for over four hours, Pike concluded to call him, give him some strong coffee and some sharp instructions, and put him "on post." It took no little shaking and kicking to rouse the boy, but presently he sat up, just as he had done at the ambulance, with the yawning inquiry, "What's the matter?"

"Nearly half-past two, Jim, and your turn for guard. Stir out here, now. Douse your head with some of this cold water. It will freshen you up. Then I'll give you a good tin of coffee."

Jim obeyed, and after stumbling stupidly around a moment, and then having a gourd or two of water dashed over his face and neck, he pronounced himself all right and proceeded to enjoy the coffee handed him.

"Now, Jim," said Pike, "the wild-cat's gone, and no Apaches will be apt to prowl up here to-night, but I want you to keep the sharpest lookout you ever did in all your life—not only over their movements down in the road, but for cavalry coming from the west. There's just no telling how soon those fellows may be out from Verde, and when they come we want to know it. The Indians have their sentries out, so they evidently expect them. Watch them like a hawk, but don't give any false alarm or make any noise. Let me sleep until it begins to get light, then call me. Now, can you do it?"

"Of course I can, corporal, but where are you going to sleep?"

"Right here by you. I'll hand your blankets and mine out by the parapet, so that if you want me, all you have to do is put out your hand. If you are chilly, or get so towards daybreak, throw that saddle blanket over your shoulders."

For a long time, despite fatigue and watching, Pike could not get to sleep. He lay there looking up at the stars shining in the clear heavens and thinking how peaceful, how far removed from strife or battle, they seemed to be. Then he kept an eye on Jim, and was glad to note that the darkey seemed alert and aware of his responsibilities, for every few minutes he would creep out and peer around the shoulder of the ledge where he could get a better view of anything going on down in the road, and, after half an hour of this sort of thing, he reported to Pike that he "reckoned the whole gang had gone to sleep down there." The old trooper assured him, however, that some must be on the alert and warned him to relax in no way his vigilance, and then at last wearied Nature asserted her rights, and the soldier fell asleep.

Four o'clock came,—five o'clock,—and there had been no sound from below. Then, far in the east the skies began to hoist their colors in honor of the coming Day God, and rich crimson and purple soon blended with the richer gold, and all around the rocky fastness the pale, wan light of the infant morn stole over rock and tree, and still old Pike slept, but not the deep, restful slumber of three hours before. He was dreaming, and his dreams were troubled, for his limbs were twitching; he rolled over and moaned aloud; inarticulate sounds escaped from his lips; but still, as one laboring with nightmare, he could not wake—could not shake off the visions that oppressed him. In his sleep he saw, and saw beyond possibility of doubt, that the Apaches were hurriedly rousing their comrades; that they were quickly picking up their rifles and then nimbly speeding up the rocks; that even as they came towards him up the mountain side several of their number went crouching along towards the east and eagerly watching the roadway through the Pass, and, following their fierce eyes, he could see, winding up the gorge, coming at a trot, a troop of the longed-for cavalry—coming not from the west, as he had expected, but from the direction of the magnificent sunrise that flashed on their carbines and tinged the campaign hats with crimson. At their head rode two officers, and one, he knew at once, must be his old captain, but why that bandage about his head? Why the rude sling in which his arm was carried? Plainly visible though they were to him, the Apaches were completely hidden from the approaching troops. Two minutes' ride brought the leaders to the smouldering ruins of the baggage wagon, at sight of which, and the charred and unrecognizable body in their midst, his captain had groaned aloud, then forced his "broncho" up the rocky path to where they had made their camp, and then, when he saw the ruined ambulance and all the evidences of Apache triumph, he reeled in his saddle and would have fallen headlong had not two stout troopers held him while their young lieutenant thrust a flask of brandy between the ashen lips; and then in his wild vision Pike saw them ride on and on up the road right beneath them—only a quarter of a mile away—never heeding, never looking for him and his precious charges. He strove to shout: he screamed aloud, yet only a suffocated groan seemed to issue from his lips; he shouted to Jim to fire and so attract their attention, but there was no response; and then, in his agony, he started up, wide awake in an instant, and, hurling off his blankets, seized his rifle and sprang to his feet.

Broad daylight; sunbeams dancing through the trees; and there, doubled up at the back of the parapet, lay that scoundrel Jim—asleep on guard. One vehement kick and curse he gave him: then peered over the barrier down the rocky hillside. God of heaven! what a sight met his eyes! The Apaches were almost on them.

ONE VEHEMENT KICK AND CURSE HE GAVE HIM.