Fred Munson, having been deceived once by the Apache climbing up the rope, was not to be caught again in the same way. When he became certain that a second person was coming up, he grasped his pistol again, and held himself in readiness to “repel boarders,” the very instant they appeared.  
It soon became evident that this second person, whoever he was, had a serious time in climbing up the rope. He frequently paused as if resting, and this fact led the lad to feel more hopeful than ever that it was his old friend drawing near.
 
When it became apparent that he was near the top, the curiosity of Fred became so great that he drew himself forward, and, peering down the black throat of the cave, asked, in a whisper:
 
“I say, Mickey, is that you? Speak, if it is, or give a little whistle.”
 
“Be the powers, but I’m so tired I’m spaachless, wid not even the strength to let out a whistle.”
 
This established the identity of the climber beyond all question, and the words were hardly uttered when the familiar face of the Irishman appeared.
 
He was exceedingly tired, and the lad reached his hand down to assist him out. It was at this juncture that the Apache, who had run against the fist of Mickey O’Rooney, recovered, and seeing his foe in the act of vanishing, gave a whoop of alarm to his companions, caught up his rifle and fired away. The hasty aim alone prevented a fatal result, the bullet clipping the clothing of the Irishman.
 
“Fire away, ye spalpeens, for all the good it may do ye,” called out the Irishman, who at this moment clambered out of range and sank down upon the ground.
 
“Begorrah, I’m as tired as Jim O’Shaughnessey after his friendly match with his wife,” gasped Mickey, speaking shortly and rapidly, as best he could, while he leaned over upon his elbow, until he could regain his strength and wind.
 
It required but a short time, when he reached his hand to the lad, and shook it for the third or fourth time, smiling at the same time in his old jolly way, as he rose rather unsteadily upon his pins.
 
“I’ll have to wait a while till the kink gets out of me legs, before I give ye the Donnybrook jig, but I make the engagement wid ye, and the thing is down for performance, do ye mind that? And now, me laddy, we must thravel. Are ye hungry?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“I have a bite saved that’ll do ye till the morrow. When ye waltzed out the cave and left me to meself, I felt there was no knowing how long I’d have to stay behind, so I knocked off both eating and drinking, with the idea of getting used to going without anything.”
 
As they were able to talk more understandingly, the two explained their experiences since they had parted. They could not fail to be interesting in both cases. When they had finished, Mickey O’Rooney had about recovered from the terrible strain he had undergone in clambering out the cave, barring a little ache in his arms and legs.
 
“Now, me laddy, we must emigrate, as there ain’t anything to be gained by loafing round here, as the gals used to tell the chaps when they tried to cut me out. The first thing to larn is whether the hoss that I lift some distance away is still there cropping the grass. If he is, then we shall have small work in making our way back to New Boston; but if he has emigrated ahead of us thar, we must hunt for others.”
 
“There’s no need of going that far.”
 
“Why not?”
 
“Because the mustangs of the Apaches are right over yonder behind those rocks.”
 
“That’s good; let’s take a look at the same.”
 
They hurried over to the spot where the half dozen mustangs were tethered. They were lying upon the ground, taking their sleep, having finished a bounteous meal. The intelligent creatures showed their training by throwing up their heads the instant the two came in sight, and several gave utterance to whinneys, no doubt with the purpose of apprising their masters of the approach of strangers. None of them rose to their feet, however, and Mickey and Fred moved about, inspecting them as best they could in the moonlight, with the purpose of selecting the best.
 
“They’re all a fine lot, as the neighbors used to say, after inspicting me father’s family, and it’s hard to make up your mind which is the best, but here is one that shtrikes me fancy. Get up wid ye.”
 
The steed, spoken to in this peremptory manner, leaped to his feet, and stood in all his graceful and beautiful proportions, an equine gem, which could not fail to command admiration.
 
“I think he’ll suit,” said the Irishman, after a careful examination. “I think he can run as well as any of ’em. I’ll tell you what we’ll do, me laddy. We’ll both mount this one, and ride till we reach the place where I lift mine, when we’ll have one apiece.”
 
“But if yours isn’t there?”
 
“Then we’ll kaap this one betwaan us, as the gals used to say, when they quarreled over me.”
 
“Hadn’t I better take one of the horses, and if we find yours, why, we can turn one of these loose, and we shall be all right, no matter how the things turn out?”
 
“It’s not a bad idaa,” assented the Irishman. “Pick yours out, and then we’ll turn the others loose.”
 
“Why will you do that?”
 
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