“Wall, that ere little matter was settled without any hard words,” muttered the scout, as he rode up the ravine. “It ain’t the way Lone Wolf generally manages them things, but that affair me and him had, when I took my hoss away from him, I s’pose had something to do with it.”  
The scout had considerable cause to feel grateful and pleased over the turn of events. He had his horse and gun, and it now only remained for him to rejoin his companions. He had already passed the point where Mickey O’Rooney had left the ravine, and he felt the impropriety of turning back and presuming upon any further indulgence of the Apaches.
 
Accordingly, he slackened the speed of his mustang until he reached an avenue of escape. He was forced to go quite a distance before finding one, but he did, at last, and turned his horse into it.
 
“I don’t know whether that ar Irishman can find the way back to whar we left the younker, but I suppose he’ll try, so I’ll aim at the same p’int.”
 
The night was pretty well gone, and his mustang had struggled nobly until he showed signs of weariness, and the scout concluded to wait until daylight before pushing his hunt any further. They were miles away from the Apache camp, and he had no fears of disturbance from that quarter. So he drew rein in a secluded spot, and sprang to the ground.
 
At the very moment of doing so, his horse gave a whinny, which was instantly responded to by a whinny from another horse, less than a hundred feet away.
 
“That’s qua’ar,” muttered the scout, as he grasped his rifle. “Whar thar’s a hoss in these parts, thar’s generally a man, and whar thar’s a man, you kin set him down as an Injun. And as this can’t be Lone Wolf, I’ll find out who he is.”
 
His own mustang being a strayer, he managed to tie him to a small, scrubby bush, after which he moved forward, with caution and stealth, in the direction whence came the whinny that had arrested his attention. His purpose was to prevent the other animal discovering his approach—an exceedingly difficult task, as the mustangs of the Southwest are among the very best sentinels that are known, frequently detecting the approach of danger when their masters fail to do so. However, Sut succeeded in getting so close, that he could plainly detect the outlines of the animal, which was standing motionless, with head erect, and his nose turned in the direction of the other mustang, as though he were all attention, and on the look-out for danger.
 
The scout paused to study the matter, for he did not understand the precise situation of things. The mustang which he saw might be only one of a dozen others, whose owners were near at hand, with possible several searching for him. The conclusion was inevitable that it was necessary for him to reconnoitre a little further before allowing his own position to be uncovered.
 
Before he could advance any further, he caught sight of a man, who moved silently forward between him and the horse, where he could be seen with greater distinctness. He held his rifle in hand, and seemed disturbed at the action of his horse, which was clearly an admonition for him to be on his guard.
 
The scout studied him for a minute, and then cautiously raised the hammer of his rifle. Guarded as was the movement, the faint click caught the ear of the other, who started, and was on the point of leaping back, when Sut called out:
 
“Stop, or I’ll bore a hole through yer!”
 
The figure did not move.
 
“Come forward and surrender.”
 
The form remained like a statue.
 
“Throw down that gun or I’ll shoot.”
 
This brought a response, which came in the shape of a well-known voice:
 
“Not while I have the spirit of a man left, as me uncle obsarved when his wife commanded him to come down from a tree that she might pummel him. How are ye, old boy?”
 
The scout had suspected the identity of his friend from the first, and had made the attempt to frighten him from the innate love of the thing. The two grasped hands cordially and were rejoiced beyond measure at this fortunate meeting.
 
Mickey explained that he had not been scratched by a bullet, nor had his horse suffered injury. It was a most singular escape indeed. But no more singular than that of the scout himself, who had received mercy at the hands of Lone Wolf, who had never been known to be guilty of such a weakness. It had been a providential deliverance all around, and the men could not be otherwise than in the best sprits.
 
“The next thing is to hunt up the younker,” said the scout, as they sat upon the the ground discussing incidents of the past few days. “I’m a little troubled about him, ’cause we’ve been away longer than we expected, and some of the varmints may have got on his trail.”
 
“How far from this place do ye reckon him to be?”
 
“That’s powerful hard to tell, but it can’t be much less than a mile, and that’s a good ways in such a hilly country as this. Yer can’t git over it faster than yer kin run.”
 
“But ye know the way thar, as I understand ye to remark?”
 
The scout signified that he would have no more trouble in reaching it then in making his way across a room. They decided, though, that the best thing they could do was to wait where they were until daylight, and then take up the hunt. They remained talking and smoking for an hour or two longer, neither closing their eyes in slumber, although the occasion was improved to its utmost by their animals. The scout was capable of losing a couple of nights’ rest without being materially effected thereby, while Mickey’s experience almost enabled him to do the same.
 
As soon as it was fairly light the two were on the move, Sut leading the course in the direction of the spot where they had left Fred Munson the day before, and which he had vacated very suddenly. They were picking their way along as best they could, when they struck a small stream, when the scout paused so suddenly that his comrade inquired the cause.
 
“That’s quar, powerful quar,” he said looking down at the ground and speaking as if to himself.
 
“One horse has been ’long har, and I think it war mine, and that he had that younker on his back.”
 
“Which way was the young spalpeen traveling?”
 
The scout indicated the course, and then added, in an excited undertone:
 
“It looks to me as if he got scared out and had to leave, and it ain’t no ways likely that anything would have scared him short of Injuns—so it’s time we j’ined him.”
 
The Irishman was decidedly of the same opinion, and the trail was at once taken.
 
“Be the powers! do you mind that?” ............