The trees to which Bill and his two mates had been tied by the Lipans were so situated that all that they needed was to turn their heads in order to have a good view of what was doing on the plain to the westward. They saw their captors ride out, and heard their whoops and yells of self-confidence and defiance.

"Don't I wish I was with the boys just now!" growled Bill.

"Three more good rifles'd be a good thing for 'em."

"Skinner'll fight, you see'f he don't. He'll stop some of that yelling."

"He's great on friendship and compromise," groaned Bill. "He may think it's good-sense not to shoot first."

The three gazed anxiously out toward the scene of the approaching conflict, if there was to be one. They could not see the advance of their comrades, but they knew they were coming.

"Hark!" suddenly exclaimed Bill. "That's the boys. Opened on 'em. Oh, don't I wish I was thar!"

The other two could hardly speak, in their excitement and disgust. It was a dreadful thing for men of their stamp to be tied to trees while a fight was going on which might decide whether they were to live or die.

Suddenly a squad of Lipans came dashing in. The cords that bound them were cut—all but those on their hands—and they were rudely lifted upon bare-backed ponies and led rapidly away to the front of the battle.

They could not understand a word of the fierce and wrathful talking around them, but the gesticulations of the warriors were plainer than their speech. Besides, some of them were attending to wounds upon their own bodies or those of others. Some were on foot, their ponies having been shot under them. More than all, there were warriors lying still upon the grass who would never again need horses.

"It's been a sharp fight," muttered Bill, "for a short one. I wonder if any of the boys went under? What are they gwine to do with us?"

A tall Lipan sat on his horse in front of him, with his long lance levelled, as if only waiting the word of command to use it. It remained to be seen whether or not the order would be given, for now To-la-go-to-de himself was riding slowly out to meet Captain Skinner.

"He can't outwit the Captain," said one of the miners. "Shooting first was the right thing to do this time. Skinner doesn't make many mistakes."

It was their confidence in his brains, rather than in his bones and muscles, which made his followers obey him, and they were justified in this instance, as they had been in a great many others.

The greetings between the two leaders were brief and stern, and the first question of old Two Knives was,

"Pale-faces begin fight. What for shoot Lipans?"

"Big lie. Lipans take our camp. Tie up our men. Steal our horses. Ride out in war-paint. Pale-faces kill them all."

The chief understood what sort of men he had to deal with, but his pride rebelled.

"All right. We kill prisoners right away. Keep camp. Keep horse. Kill all pale-faces."

"We won't leave enough of you for the Apaches to bury. There's a big band of them coming. Eat you all up."

"The Lipans are warriors. The Apaches are small dogs. We are not afraid of them."

"You'd better be! If you had us to help you, now, you might whip them. There won't be so many of you by the time they get here. Pale-faces are good friends. Bad enemies. Shoot straight. Kill a heap."

Captain Skinner saw that his "talk" was making a deep impression, but the only comment of the chief was a deep, guttural "Ugh!" and the Captain added,

"Suppose you make peace? Say have fight enough. Not kill any more. Turn and whip Apaches. We help."

"What about camp, wagon, horse, mule, blanket? All kind of plunder."

"Make a divide. We'll help ourselves when we take the Apache ponies. You keep one wagon. We keep one. Same way with horses and mules—divide 'em even. You give up prisoners right away. Give 'em their rifles, and pistols, and knives. Give back all you took from them."

"Ugh! Good! Fight Apaches. Then pale-faces take care of themselves. Give them one day after fight."

That was the sort of treaty that was made, and it saved the lives of Bill and his mates for that day at least.

It was all Captain Skinner could have expected, but the faces of the miners were sober enough over it.

"Got to help fight Apaches, boys."

"And lose one wagon, and only have a day's start afterward."

"One wagon's nothing, boys. All we care much for is in the wagon we'll choose to keep. As to the rest of it, we'll see about that. Did any of you get hurt besides Smith and Gorham?"

"Not a man. But there's two less to divide with if we ever git safe into Mexico."

The chief had at once ridden back to announce the result to his braves, and they, too, received it with a sullen approval which was full of bitter thoughts of what they would do to those pale-faces after the Apaches should be beaten, and the "one day's truce" ended.

The three captives were at once set at liberty, their arms restored to them, and they were permitted to return to the camp and pick out, saddle, and mount their own horses.

"The Captain's got us out of our scrape," said Bill. "I can't guess how he did it."

"Must ha' been by shootin' first."

"And all the boys do shoot so awful straight!"

That had a great deal to do with it, but the immediate neighborhood of the Apaches had a great deal more. To-la-go-to-de knew that ............