AT THE earliest streaking of gray in the eastern horizon the three men and Herbert Watrous, all of whom had been sleeping fitfully by turns through the long dismal hours, silently rose to their feet and walked to where the ponies, a short distance off, had resumed their cropping of the grass. They were thirsty, like their masters, but no water was within reach, and they were doing their best to satisfy their hunger.

The outlines of the old adobe mission building showed faintly through the obscurity as the little party headed westward, and advanced at a moderate walk, on the alert for the Apaches, of whom they had detected signs now and then during their wearisome watching.

The action of the red men had puzzled the trapper as well as Strubell and Lattin. It was[330] hard to understand why they had not stumbled on the truth, but there was good reason for believing they were still ignorant of the presence of the white men so near them. It was upon this theory that the success of the daring enterprise was based.

Eph Bozeman placed himself at the head, Herbert coming next, with one of the Texans on either side. The veteran was the best qualified to lead, while the disposition of all was with a view of protecting the younger and less experienced member of the party.

Nothing was seen of their enemies until half the distance was passed, when Lattin, who was on Herbert’s right, exclaimed in an undertone:

“Yonder are the varmints!”

The horses were in excellent condition because of their long rest, and up to this moment moved at a moderate trot. As the Texan spoke, the trapper, who had detected the danger, struck his animal into a brisk gallop, the others doing the same without any urging of their riders.

The Apaches must have relaxed their vigilance toward the latter part of the night, for[331] most, if not all the group, were observed to the south of the structure instead of being near it. They were closer to it, however, than the whites, and showed their daring by immediately riding forward to meet them.

The trapper turned his head and said: “Let ‘em have it the minute they’re near enough to hit.”

These were words which had meaning, and Herbert, like his companions, looked at his Winchester to make sure it was ready for instant service.

“I think they’re all there,” added Lattin.

“I don’t believe it,” remarked Strubell, “for there isn’t more than six or eight.”

“And Nick isn’t with them,” Herbert could not help exclaiming, with a thrill of pleasure.

No reply followed this, which might signify nothing, for all were too intent on what was before them.

The interest deepened each moment. The Apaches, numbering exactly eight, were advancing at a speed fully as great as that of the whites, riding close together and apparently all eagerness for the conflict. They[332] indulged in no shouts, whoops, or gestures, but came on like the grim demons they were.

Each carried his gun, and he was not afraid to use it whenever the chance offered. Nothing could have looked more frightful than they, their chests naked, their irregular features daubed with different colored paint, their long black hair dangling about their shoulders, while each rode like a centaur.

A distance of two hundred yards separated the parties, neither of which had made the slightest variation in its course. Our friends were heading directly toward the building and did not swerve to the right or left. To have done so would have shown fear, and brought the redskins down upon them like a cyclone.

One of two things was inevitable, and that within the space of a few seconds: the Apaches or white men must turn to one side, or there would be a fierce fight. Eph Bozeman and his comrades were resolved to keep on until the noses of their ponies should touch. What was the purpose of th............