Mickey O’Rooney had not thought of the “opening” over their heads since the firing of his rifle-shot, and he now started and looked upward, as if fearful that he had committed a fatal oversight. But he saw or heard nothing to excite alarm.  
“Where are they?” he asked, in a whisper.
 
“They’re up there. I’ve seen them peep down more than once.”
 
“What were they paaping for?”
 
“I suppose to find out where we were.”
 
“Be the powers, but I showed them where I was when I fired me gun!”
 
“That maybe; but you didn’t stay there, and perhaps they were looking for me.”
 
“Did they find ye?”
 
“I don’t think they did. You know I was in behind the boulder, with my head thrown back, so that it was easy for me to look up, and there wasn’t enough branches and leaves over my head to shut out my view; so I lay there looking up, watching and listening, when I saw an Indian peep over the top there, as though he was looking for us.”
 
“Did ye see more than one?”
 
“I am sure there were two, and I think three.”
 
“They didn’t ax ye any question?”
 
“I didn’t hear any.”
 
“What d’ye s’pose they mean to try?”
 
“I thought they meant to find out where we are hiding, and then roll stones down on us. They can do that, you know, without our getting a chance to stop them.”
 
“If we squaze in under that same place,” said Mickey, indicating the inward slope of the rock, they can’t hit us; but I don’t believe that such is their intention.”
 
“What do you suppose it to be?”
 
“That’s hard to say; but these varmints ain’t ready to shoot us jist yet. Leastaways, they don’t want to do so, until they’re sure there ain’t anything else lift for ’em to’do.”
 
“They wish to make us prisoners?”
 
“That’s it, exactly.”
 
“Well, if they are willing to wait, they’ll be sure to have us, for there isn’t any water here for us to drink, and we can’t get along without that.”
 
The Irishman suddenly slapped his chest and side, as though he missed something from the pocket.
 
“And be the powers!” he exclaimed, “I’ve lost that mate, and there must have been enough to last us a wake or two.”
 
“How could you have lost that?” asked Fred, who was much disappointed.
 
“It must have slid out when we were riding so hard, or else when we lift our horses.”
 
“Are you sure it wasn’t lost somewhere among these trees, where we can get it again?”
 
But he was confident that such was not the case, and he was not disposed to mourn the loss a great deal. They could do longer without food than they could without drink, and he was of the opinion that this problem would be solved before they were likely to perish from the want of either.
 
“Did ye get a fair look at any of the spalpeens that was so ill-mannered as to paap down on ye?”
 
“Yes; and there was one—’Sh! there he is now!”
 
The two peered upward through the leaves, and saw the head and shoulders of an Apache, who was looking down into the ravine. He was not directly above them, but a dozen feet off to the left. He seemed to be trying to locate the party that had fired two such fatal shots, and therefore could not have known where he was.
 
The face of the Indian could be seen very distinctly, and it was one with more individual character than any Mickey had as yet noticed. It was not handsome nor very homely, but that of a man in the prime of life, with a prominent nose—a regular contour of countenance for an Indian. The face was painted, as was the long black hair which dangled about his shoulders. His eye was a powerful black one, which flitted restlessly, as he keenly searched the ravine below.
 
Not seeing that which he wished, he arose to his feet, and walked slowly along and away from where the fugitives were crouching. That is, his face was turned toward the main ravine or pass, while he stepped upon the very edge of the fissure, moving with a certain deliberation and dignity, as he searched the space below for the man and boy whom he was so anxious to secure.
 
“I wonder if he ain’t the leader?” said Mickey, in a whisper. “I never saw better shtyle than that.”
 
“I should think he was the leader. Don’t you know him?”
 
“How should I know him? I never traveled much in Injun society. Are ye and him acquainted?”
 
“He’s Lone Wolf—their great war-chief.”
 
“Ye don’t say so?” exclaimed the astonished Irishman, staring at him. “He’s just the spalpeen I loaded me gun for, and here goes!”
 
Softly raising the hammer of his rifle, he lifted the weapon to his shoulder; but before he could make his aim certain, the red scamp stepped aside and vanished from view.
 
“Now, that’s enough to break a man’s heart!” wailed the chagrined Mickey. “Why wasn’t the spalpeen thoughtful and kind enough to wait until I could have made sartin of............