During one part of the journey Steve Harrison and Murray had found the ledge along the mountain side pretty rough travelling, but their horses were used to picking their way along bad roads, and after a while they succeeded in getting out on to the comparatively smooth slope of the pine-forest.

"Our only risk now is that we may meet some of their hunters up here after game. We'll push right on."

"I'll fight if it can't be helped, Murray, but I'd a good deal rather not meet anybody."

"Well, so had I. Our business, just now, is scouting, not killing."

"I'll scout all day," said Steve.

"We must find a hiding-place for the horses, and creep down into the valley on foot. I'll show you some new tricks to-day."

The trees were large and the forest open, and no proper place was found for the concealment of such large animals, until they made their way at last to the very edge of the pass, at the point where it left the rugged cliffs of the "gap" and entered the more gentle slope of the forest.

"This'll do, Steve. I could hide a company in here; and no one squad need know where the next one was lying."

That was true enough, but it was of more importance to them that day than any one would have expected.

They tethered their horses between two rocks, where the thickly woven vines overhead made almost a dark stable for them.

"Now, Steve, a good look up and down, and we're off."

Between them and what could be called "the road" were many yards of tangled growth, and before they had gotten through it Steve felt his arm gripped hard.

"Listen! Horses coming! Lie still."

A minute more and they were both willing to lie as still as mice, for that was the very cover chosen by Bill and his two comrades in which to wait for their intended prisoners.

They and their horses were hardly twenty feet from Steve and Murray, and every loud word they said was distinctly heard.

Moreover, Murray and his young friend were on higher ground, and they, too, could look down the pass, and see who was coming.

"Two young squaws," whispered Murray. "The foolish young things are coming right into the trap."

"Can't we help 'em?"

"They're Apache squaws, Steve."

"I don't care. I'm white!"

"So am I. Tell you what, Steve—Ha! I declare!"

"What's the matter, Murray?"

"One of 'em's white! Sure's you live. They sha'n't touch a hair of their heads!"

"White or red?" whispered Steve, and he was not speaking of the color of Ni-ha-be's hair or of Rita's.

The expression of Murray's face astonished Steve. It was ghastly white, under all its tan and sunburn, and the wrinkles seemed twice as deep as usual, while the fire in his sunken eyes was fairly blazing. It was likely to be a bad time for anybody to cross the temper of "No Tongue," and Steve felt that his own blood was getting a little warm.

"There's an Indian coming."

"Apache. After the squaws. Don't you hear his whoop? I suppose they'll shoot him first thing, but they won't send a bullet at the girls. They're a bad crowd. Worse than Apache Indians."

"I don't consider them white men."

"Not inside, they ain't. I'd rather be a Lipan!"

The two merry, laughing girls rode by, in happy ignorance of the danger that was lurking in the thicket, and Red Wolf galloped swiftly on to join them.

Then the three miners, with Bill at their head, sprung out of their cover.

"Look out, boys. Don't use your rifles. Thar must be plenty more within hearin'."

"We'll have to kill the brave."

"Of course. Git close to him, though. No noise. I'd like not to give him a chance to so much as whoop."

They never dreamed of looking behind to see if any one were following them out of the cover, but it would have been better for them to have done so.

"They've start enough now," growled Murray. "Come on, Steve. Step like a cat. We must take them unawares. Have your tie-up ready."

The buckskin thongs which hang from the belt or shoulder or knee of an Indian warrior are not all put there for ornament. They are for use in tying things, and they are terribly strong. No human hand can break one, and they are always there and ready, only needing to be cut off.

Steve's face was almost as pale as Murray's in his excitement. He had looked in the bright faces of the two "young squaws" as they rode by, and it seemed to him as if he could fight those three miners all alone.

They saw Red Wolf join his sisters; they heard the startled cries of Rita and Ni-ha-be, the demand for their surrender, and Red Wolf's reply.

"Now, Steve, quick! Do just as I tell you!"

Twang went Ni-ha-be's bow at that instant, and the man next to Bill was raising his rifle to fire, when his arms were suddenly seized by a grasp of iron and jerked behind him.

"Right at the elbows, Steve. Draw the loop hard. Quick!"

As the next of the miners turned in his tracks he was astonished by a blow between the eyes that laid him flat, and saw a powerful-looking old man, of his own race, levelling a carbine at him saying,

"Give it up, boys. Don't one of ye lift a hand."

Bill could not lift his, with the arrow in his arm. The man Steve had tied could not move his elbows. The man on the ground was ruefully looking into the barrel of Murray's rifle. Besides, here was Red Wolf, springing forward, with his lance in one hand and his revolver in the other, while Rita held his horse, and Ni-ha-be sat upon her own, with her second arrow on the string.

"We give it up," said Bill. "But what are you fellers up to? I see. You're the two miners, and you're down on us because we jumped your claim to that thar gold ledge."

"Wall, Bill," grumbled one of his comrades, "I don't blame 'em for that; but they needn't ha' took sides with redskins."

Red Wolf lowered his lance and stuck his pistol in his belt. "Your prisoners. Not mine," he said to Murray. "Glad to meet friend. Come in good time."

He spoke in Mexican Spanish, but Murray understood him, and so did the miners.

"Hear him, Bill! He knows them two fellers. That's why they ain't afraid to prospect away down here."

He had made a bit of a mistake, but Murray answered, short and sharp,

"Young brave take friend's advice. Jump on horse. Take young squaws back to camp. Tell chief to ride hard. Kill pony. Get away fast."

"Who shall I tell him you are?"

&quo............