Colonel Evans and Captain Moore were vexed more deeply than they could have told by the escape of Ping. How it had been accomplished was a mystery. It was of no use whatever to lay the blame upon the Chiricahuas, or to ask them any questions. Each had been able to render a seemingly good account of himself, and each had taken the occasion to declare his undying enmity to Kah-go-mish and all his band. They did not tell how much better they felt, now that Ping's part of the "bad medicine" which threatened them had galloped away.

As for Tah-nu-nu, she had never before known what it was to feel lonesome. So long as Ping had been in the camp she had been able to keep up her spirits, but now even her pride almost broke down, and if she had not been the daughter of a great chief she could have cried about it all.

One of the two securities for Cal's safe return having disappeared, there was sure to be greater care taken of the other. Sam Herrick had probably never said "Colorado!" more emphatically than he did when he added: "Well, now, I'd like to see that gal git away. She won't!"

Cal should have had still greater security held for him by his friends instead of less, for the events of the previous night had by no means ended when the squaw and pack-mule part of the Apache encampment succeeded in getting out into the open desert.

The Mexican commander had made all his plans with caution as well as with skill, and their nature had been but imperfectly reported to Kah-go-mish. That chief knew that his assailants were drawing near the camp, through the woods, on foot, in three detachments. He knew that each body of soldiers was too strong for him to face, and that all had been cavalry before they dismounted. He was sure, therefore, that away in the rear of all must be a drove of several hundreds of horses. What he did not calculate upon was the strength and vigilance of the detachment left in charge of those horses.

When, therefore, the Apache camp was abandoned, and all its treasures of quadrupeds and stores had been hurried out of harm's way, Kah-go-mish did not go with his family and household goods. He and a score of his best warriors rode away upon an errand worthy of so great a commander. They made a wide circuit, along the edge of the plain, entered the deep forest once more, dismounted, tied their horses, and pushed rapidly forward on foot. They were in the rear of the attacking columns, and were very near to the rear-guard and its drove when the Mexicans dashed in upon the camp.

Creeping from tree to tree, nearer and nearer, the chief and his chosen braves reached the right spot and were entirely ready for the dash which they also had prepared at the moment when they heard the rattling volleys, the shouts, and the bugle-calls.Small fires had been kindled by the Mexican rear-guard, and there were torches here and there, but these were not enough. The darkness was still sufficient to conceal from the creeping Apaches the fact that the Mexican commander had left a hundred men to guard his precious quadrupeds. He had stationed them well, also, and they were on the alert for Indians.

Loud rang the war-whoops of Kah-go-mish and his daring followers, and their rifles cracked rapidly for a half-minute before they sprang out of their cover. Not many bullets could be expected to reach a human mark by firelight and torchlight. Very few soldiers were touched, but quite a number of horses received wounds which made them give tenfold effect to the panic and fright produced by the yells and rifle-reports. Neighing, kicking, screaming, the entire drove broke loose as the Apaches dashed in among them, and the shadowy woods around were full of trampling hoofs.

As a military manoeuvre, the plan of Kah-go-mish had thus far been a complete success, for he wanted only a stampede, and had no idea of capturing any of those horses. There, however, his success ended. The drove was scattered, so that there could be no immediate pursuit of him and his, but the Mexican militia had not been stampeded. They stood their ground like brave fellows, and closed in at once upon the whooping red-men.

Bitter was the wrath of Kah-go-mish, for he found himself outnumbered several times. Half of his own warriors had instantly disappeared among the trees, as was their duty. The other half went down around him, man by man, whooping, firing swift and deadly shots, but well aware that for once their trusted leader had led them into a death-trap.

There came a lurid moment when he stood alone, in front of one of the blazing heaps of light-wood, surrounded on all sides by men who had drawn their sabres because they could not use firearms for fear of hitting one another.

Calm and ringing was the whoop of defiance with which he stood at bay, a revolver in one hand and a bowie-knife in the other.

"Kah-go-mish is a great chief!" he shouted.

Another whoop sprang to his lips, but it was not completed. There were flashes of steel blades in the shadows around him, and he fell heavily upon the grass.

The Mexican commander was as much astonished by the sounds of battle behind him as he had been by the deserted condition of the camp he had intended to surprise. He ordered his three detachments to wheel at once, but they were impeded by the part of the stampeded drove which rushed in their direction. There were shouts and exclamations all along the line as the frightened animals broke through, but the officers held their men well in hand and pushed steadily forward. It was all a riddle until they marched out at the line of corral camp-fires. There were the rear-guard, drawn up in perfect order, except a few who were out in the woods gathering horses, and a few who were wounded, and a few more who would never mount again.

Explanations were promptly made, and the officer commanding the rear-guard was warmly commended."The Apache chief fell," he said. "Kah-go-mish."

"What?" exclaimed the commander. "Kah-go-mish? That is enough. It was worth what it cost."

An hour or so later all that was left, a dozen out of the score who had ridden with the chief, caught up with their band. They came in silence until they were very near. The entire train halted, and a sort of shudder seemed to run through it. Not so should a war-party have returned, under the leadership of Kah-go-mish. There should have been a well-known voice, sounding its accustomed whoop of triumph. Instead of it another voice arose, long drawn and mournfully. It was the death-whoop of the Apaches, and it was answered by a woman's involuntary wail, for Wah-wah-o-be knew that the signal had been given for Kah-go-mish.

Crooked Nose had not been with the chief's party, but had ridden by Cal as a special keeper. The instant he heard the death-whoop he turned to his charge and said, in a not unfriendly manner: "Pull stick got bad manitou. Ugh! All Apache heap mad. Heap kill. Great chief gone dead. All paleface die. Heap bad medicine."