Leaving Fred Munson to watch for the approach of the Indians, it becomes necessary to follow Mickey O’Rooney and Sut Simpson on their hunt for a horse with which to continue their flight from the mountains and across the prairies. It cannot be said that the scout, in starting upon this expedition, had any particular plan in view. As he remarked, Indians were around them, and, wherever Indians were found, it was safe to look for the best kind of horses. Wherever the best opportunity offered, there he intended to strike. With this view, the first position of their expedition was in the nature of a survey, by which they intended to locate the field in which to operate.  
The Irishman could not fail to see the necessity of caution and silence, and, leaving his more experienced companion to take the lead, he followed him closely, without speaking or halting. The way continued rough and broken, being very difficult to travel at times; but after they had tramped a considerable distance, Mickey noticed that they were going down hill at quite a rapid rate, and finally they reached the lowermost level, where the scout faced him.
 
“Do yer know whar yer be?” he asked, in a significant tone.
 
“Know whar I be?” repeated the Irishman, in amazement. “How should I know, as the spalpeens always said arter I knocked them down at the fair? What means of information have I?”
 
“You’ve been over this spot afore,” continued the scout, enjoying the perplexity of his friend.
 
The latter scratched his head and looked about him with a more puzzled expression than ever.
 
“The only place that it risimbles in my mind, is a hilly portion in the north of Ireland. Do you maan to say we’ve arrived thar?”
 
“This is the pass which you tramped up and down, and whar you got into trouble.”
 
“It don’t look like any part that I ever obsarved; but why do you have such a hankering for this ravine, in which we haven’t been used very well?”
 
“Yer’s whar the Injuns be, and yer’s whar we must look for hosses—sh!”
 
Mickey heard not the slightest sound, but he imitated the action of the scout and dodged down in some undergrowth, which was dense enough to hide them from the view of any one who did not fairly trample upon them. They had crouched but a minute or two in this position, when Mickey fancied he heard the tramp of a single horse, approaching on a slow walk. He dared not raise his head to look, although he noticed that the shoulders of the scout in front of him were slowly rising, as he peered stealthily forward.
 
The experiences of the last few days had been remarkable in more than one respect. The two men had set out to secure a horse, neither deeming it probable that the one which was desired above all others could be obtained; and yet, while they were crouching in the bushes, the very animal—the one which had been ridden by Mickey O’Rooney—walked slowly forth to view, on his way up the ravine or pass. The most noticeable feature of the scene was that he was bestrode by an Indian warrior, whose head was bent in a meditative mood. The redskin, so far as could be seen, was without a companion, the steed walking at the slowest possible gait and approaching a point which was no more than a dozen feet away.
 
The instant Mickey caught sight of the warrior and recognized his own horse, there was a slight movement on the part of the scout. The Irishman narrowly escaped uttering an exclamation of surprise and delight as he identified his property, but he checked himself in time to notice that Sut was stealthily bringing his gun around to the front, with the unmistakable purpose of shooting the Apache. The heart of the Irishman revolted at such a proceeding. There seemed something so cowardly in thus killing an adversary without giving him an opportunity to defend himself that he could not consent to it. Reaching forward, he twitched the sleeve of Sut, who turned his head in surprise.
 
“What is it ye’re driving at, me laddy?”
 
“Sh!—him!” he whispered, in return, darting his head toward the slowly approaching horseman, winking and blinking so significantly that it was easy to supply the words which were omitted.
 
“But why don’t ye go out and tell him what ye intend, so that he can inform his friends, and bid them all good-bye? It ain’t the thing to pop a man over in that style, without giving him a chance to meditate on the chances of his life, so be aisy wid him, Soot.”
Two men peek around a tree.
 
“BE AISY WID HIM, SOOT.”
 
The scout seemed at a loss to understand the meaning of his companion, whose waggery and drollery cropped out at such unexpected times that no one knew when to expect it. The Indian was approaching and was already close at hand. Keen-eared, and with their senses always about them, Apaches are likely to detect the slightest disturbance. The scout glanced at the horseman, and then at Mickey, who was in earnest.
 
“It’s the only way to git the hoss, you lunkhead, so will yer keep yer meat-trap shet?”
 
“I don’t want a horse if we’ve got to murder a man to git the same.”
 
“But the only way out here to treat an Injin is to shoot him the minute yer see him—that’s sensible.”
 
“I don’t want ye to do it,” said Mickey, so pleadingly that the scout could not refuse.
 
“Wal, keep still and don’t interfere, and I promise yer I won’t slide him under, onless he gits in the way, and won’t git out.”
 
“All right,” responded Mickey, not exactly sure that he understood him, but willing to trust one who was not without his rude traits of manhood.
 
All this took place in a few seconds, during which the Apache horseman had approached, and another moment’s delay would have given him a good chance of escape by flight. As noiselessly as a shadow the scout arose from his knees to a stooping position, took a couple of long, silent strides forward, and then straightened up, directly in front of the startled horse, and still more startled rider. The former snorted, and partly reared up, but seemed to understand, as if by an instinct, that the stranger was more entitled to claim him than the one upon his back. Another step forward and the scout held the bridle in his left hand, while he addressed the astounded Apache in his own tongue, a liberal translation being as follows:
 
“Let my brother, the dog of an Apache, slide off that animile, and vamoose the ranch, or I’ll lift his ha’r quicker’n lightning.”
 
The savage deemed it advisable to “slide.” He carried a knife at his girdle, and held a rifle in his grasp, but the scout had come upon him so suddenly that he felt he was master of the situation. So without attempting to argue the matter with him, he dropped to the ground, and began retreating up the ravine, with his face toward his conquerer, as if he mistrusted treachery.
 
“Our blessing go wid ye,” said Mickey, rising to his feet, and waving his hand toward the alarmed Apache; “we don’t want to harm ye, and ye may go in pace. There, Soot,” he added, as he came up beside him, “we showed that spalpeen marcy whin he scarcely had the right to expict it, and he will appreciate the same.”
 
“Ye’re right,” grunted the scout. “He’ll show ye how he’ll appreciate it the minute he gets a chance to draw bead onto yer; but ye’ve larned that thar are plenty of varmints in this section, and if we’re going to get away with this hoss thar ain’t no time to lose. Up with yer thar and take the bridle.”
 
Mickey did as he requested, not exactly understanding what the intention was.
 
“What is to be done?” he asked, as the head of the animal was turned back over the route that he had just traveled. “Am I to ride alone, while ye walk beside me?”
 
“That’s the idea for the present, so as to save the strength of the horse. A half mile or so up the pass is a trail which leads down inter it. The mustang can go over that like a streak of greased lightning, and thar’s whar we’ll leave the pass, and make off through the woods and m............