All that Crooked Nose had said about the grief and wrath of the Apaches over the loss of Kah-go-mish was true, but Cal seemed for a few hours to be almost forgotten.

"Tan-tan-e-o-tan is a great chief," said the warrior upon whom the direction of affairs appeared as a matter of course to fall.

He was the short, intoed, bow-legged brave who had been accustomed to command in the now dead leader's absence, and he had never yet told anybody how much he envied and hated Kah-go-mish. His first duty was to get away from the Mexicans without losing any more braves or horses, and there was no time for mourning. He then saw before him an immediate path to safety if not to glory, and he determined to follow it. He did not know that he had determined to carry out the great plan of Kah-go-mish.

Very faint and difficult to find or follow was the trail left upon the sun-baked, wind-swept gravel of the plains by the dejected Mescalero cavalcade. It was several hours before Tan-tan-e-o-tan and his warriors deemed it safe to turn again towards the line of forest and find a new camp-ground.

They knew that they were in no immediate danger, for the Mexican cavalry could undertake no pursuit that night. Even when morning came a large part of the horses Kah-go-mish had stampeded were yet roving through the woods. Scouting parties were sent out in all directions, however, and a courier was hurried away with the news of the destruction of the dangerous chief and of the eight warriors who had fallen with him. Unlucky Colonel Romero, two days' journey westward, was at the same hour penning a sad despatch announcing the loss of his mules and supplies.

Tah-nu-nu once more awoke as a prisoner in the hands of the pale-faces, and the first thought which came to her was that Ping was gone and that she was alone. A remarkably good breakfast was provided for her, and while she was eating it she heard Captain Moore say, with emphasis: "You are right, Colonel Evans. Your best plan is to strike for home by the shortest road. You won't hear one word more about Cal before you get there. What Kah-go-mish means is plain. He wants to keep as many of your horses as he can and trade your boy for his girl. He can't stay in Mexico. You'll hear from him at Santa Lucia. My trip is ended and I'm willing to push as fast as ever you wish."

Tah-nu-nu asked the Chiricahuas about it soon afterwards, and then she knew that she was to be taken to the lodge of the long cowboy chief, and kept there until Kah-go-mish should come and pay ponies for her. It was an awful thing for an Indian girl to think of, but there was no help for it, and she mounted her pony, sure of being well guarded. It was Sam Herrick's turn or Bill's, to ride by her side whenever the colonel was not there. The Chiricahuas were not needed any more, considering what had become of The-boy-whose-ear-pushed-away-a-piece-of-lead.

They did not, indeed, know what had become of him. Perhaps the old Chiricahua guessed that he had been hidden among the "heap rock" bowlders and crags at one time, and knew why Tah-nu-nu did not join him. Even for the dusky scouts all was guess-work beyond that.

Somewhat so had it been to Ping himself, but he had not listened to all the wise words of his father and the elders of his band for nothing. Even the stories told him by Wah-wah-o-be had been full of instruction. From one of these, concerning the feats performed by a great brave of the Apaches, he had derived lessons which had just now been of value to him. So had the uncommon size of the Reservation-collection trousers which had fallen to his share. Even after they were cut off at the knee there was room in them for another boy of his size. The pockets were so many canvas caves, and they were pretty well filled. Any boy knows that a pocket will hold a large part of his property if he keeps on putting things in, and Ping had put in everything he or Tah-nu-nu could lay their hands on. The pale-faces had his bow and arrows, but he had collected their full value. One trouser leg concealed a bowie-knife and the other a revolver. There were hooks and lines in one pocket and some cartridges, with some hard-tack. A large chunk of boiled beef was in another, and it was plain that the Chiricahuas had done something to prevent a famine to Ping from bringing upon them more of the "bad medicine" of Kah-go-mish. Unless he should meet with enemies or with too wide a desert, Ping was fairly well provided for a hunting and fishing excursion. He had never in all his life felt so proud and warrior-like as when he rode out from among the crags and wheeled his pony southward to find the trail of his people. He did not reach it that day, but when he made his lonely camp-fire at night, ate for supper some fish he had caught and the last of his chunk of beef, he would have been all over comfortable and satisfied if only Tah-nu-nu had been with him instead of being a long day's march nearer Santa Lucia.

That same night was by no means so comfortable for Cal. Tan-tan-e-o-tan had not so much as spoken to him all day long, but neither had he spoken to Wah-wah-o-be. He had seemed to grow haughtier and more gloomy from hour to hour, and had given orders as if he had been Kah-go-mish and a trifle more. The march had been through as much desert and chaparral and rocky ground as was convenient, and an early camp was made in order that the four-footed wealth of the band might have a long rest and a good feed. Tan-tan-e-o-tan declared that they would need it, since the next day's trail would be through mountain-passes.

"Good!" said Wah-wah-o-be. "Do what Kah-go-mish say. Heap bad Indian. Ugh!"

The band had lost its chief and some warriors, but it was rich in horses, ponies, and mules. Part of these were doubtful property so long as the band remained in Mexico, but might not be so much so if carried north of the boundary line. The Santa Lucia quadrupeds, on the other hand, had no Mexican claimant, but would be poor property in the United States. These facts presented serious questions, and Tan-tan-e-o-tan reflected that Pull Stick was the only person in his camp who not only knew the whole story, but would be willing to tell it if he had a chance given him. There was much talk among the leading braves that night, as well as much mourning for Kah-go-mish and the fallen warriors. No decision was reached, and Crooked Nose told Cal that every friend of Wah-wah-o-be and her children had been opposed to "Make heap fire all over Pull Stick."

Wah-wah-o-be herself was too full of grief to say anything, and Cal was left with a pretty clear idea that his case was getting darker. It was not easy to keep up much courage, but he was very weary in mind and body, and he slept as well as any fellow could, lying on the bare ground with his hands tied behind. He was untied when morning came in order to eat his breakfast, and he was busily at work upon it when a great shout at the other side of the camp was answered by a positive yell of delight from Wah-wah-o-be.

"Ping! Ping!" she screamed, and added all the syllables of his best name.

There was a grand time after that, and The-boy-whose-ear-pushed-away-a-piece-of-lead was a hero and the most important person in the entire camp. Even Tan-tan-e-o-tan considered him so until his report was made as to what the blue-coats and cowboys were doing, and Wah-wah-o-be did not give it up then. She was comforted concerning Tah-nu-nu, while Ping listened with all the trained steadiness of an Indian brave to the dark, tidings of the death of Kah-go-mish.

He listened in silence, looking at Cal, and it may be that he had in his mind a picture of the first glimpse which he and Tah-nu-nu had had of the young pale-face horseman, for his next inquiry was concerning the "heap pony."

Wah-wah-o-be sprang from the ground, where she had seated herself for her recital. She darted away; and in a few minutes more Cal saw her return.

Well might Ping's delight break through his grief, for with one bound he was upon the back of the red mustang. Cal's belt, with its pistol and cartridge case, his repeating rifle, his elegant knife, even his Panama hat, were duly delivered to The-boy-whose-ear-pushed-away-a-piece-of-lead. Saddle and bridle and all, Ping had taken the place of Pull Stick as the master of the swiftest, toughest, best mustang in all southern New Mexico—just now in old Mexico.

Part of Ping's news had been that he had seen and been seen by a party of Mexican cavalry. There were not many of them, apparently, but he was now summoned to pilot some braves who were to ride out and take a distant look at them. Proud was he, and a proud squaw was Wah-wah-o-be when he rode away upon the red mustang.

It was a dark hour for Cal. The preparations for breaking camp went swiftly on. They had been nearly completed when Ping appeared, and now every pony and mule and horse was soon in motion. No pony was brought for Cal. Instead thereof came Tan-tan-e-o-tan, with a grim scowl upon his face. He was accompanied by a pair of Apaches as merciless as himself, and they had plainly determined to put away the one witness whose memory and tongue were dangerous to them. They did not see fit to use lead or steel or fire, but Cal was more securely staked out this time. No twig was driven into a gopher hole, and he was told, "Pull Stick get away now. Ugh! Medicine gone."

Their task accomplished, they remounted and rode away, leaving their victim alone and helpless in the shadowy forest.