"THE HOUR HAS COME."
Ned Chadmund was too terrified to think of further sleep, nor did he
dare to return to where he had been lying upon the blanket when aroused
in such a startling manner. As he turned his horrified gaze in that
direction, he saw the two combatants clutching and striking each other
upon the ground, their blows growing feebler as their strength rapidly
departed. The most alarming thing about this revolting contest was the
fact that it did not attract the interest of a single spectator beyond
the little fellow. There were plenty of Indians around, some of whom
were within a dozen feet, and yet they paid no more attention to it than
if the two were quietly smoking their pipes.
This showed, as a matter of course, the indifference of the others as to
what befell the defenseless prisoner. The next Indian who advanced upon
him with drawn knife would not be so likely to find himself disputed by
another, anxious to perform the same job. It seemed certain that no one
would interfere in the interests of the prisoner himself.
The latter stood debating what he should do, if, indeed, he could do
anything at all. He turned his head and looked back in the gloom, which
appeared so inviting that he was tempted to turn and make a dash for
freedom. If he could only secure a start of a hundred yards, it seemed
to him that he might escape. That would give him a chance to steal away
and hide until he could renew his flight, with a prospect of eluding
them altogether. He glanced at the darkness and then again at the
Apaches. Not a single one of them, so far as he could see, showed any
consciousness of his presence, and none were between him and the gloom
in which he meant to take shelter.
His heart throbbed with excitement as he stood debating the question,
and he hurriedly concluded to make the attempt. But on the eve of
starting, his straining vision detected the faintest shadowy outline of
a figure, which silently receded in the gloom as he looked toward it.
Ned understood on the instant what this meant. It was Lone Wolf who was
waiting to receive him, whenever he should choose to make his attempt to
get away.
The whole trick flashed upon him at once. Lone Wolf, with a view of
thoroughly testing the lad, had purposely thrown this opportunity in his
way, and was waiting beyond in the gloom to receive him with open arms.
Poor Ned's heart sank as he realized more vividly than ever that he was
as much a prisoner as if immured within the walls of Sing Sing. Still,
he affected not to notice the presence of the sentinel, but walked back
toward the camp with that affectation of indifference which he had used
on more than one occasion before. He recollected this time to put on the
limp--his lameness being of such a decided character that there could be
no mistaking it by any one who happened to look in that direction.
"Never mind, I'll get the chance yet," he muttered, putting himself upon
his mettle. "I'll play lame till they think there is no need of watching
me at all, and then, before they know it, I'll be off."
The knowledge that Lone Wolf was so near at hand gave him enough courage
to go back to where the blanket lay, and seat himself upon it. He had
sat thus but a few minutes, when he noticed that it was growing light in
the East. The night was gone and day was breaking.
"I'm glad of it, for I'm tired of this place," he exclaimed. "I'll never
get any chance to do anything for myself here."
Before it was fairly light, the Apaches began their preparations for
leaving the scene of their encampment. Their mustangs were picketed at
some distance up the stream, under charge of a couple of sentinels,
where they had not been disturbed during the entire night.
"I wonder if they'll give me a horse?" was the next thought of Ned, as
he watched these preparations.
In a few minutes all were mounted upon their animals, which seemed in a
splendid condition. Among them were three that had belonged to the
cavalry, and which were easily identified by means of the saddles,
bridles and accoutrements. Ned hoped that one of these would be placed
at his disposal, and he looked around for the chief only to find him at
his elbow.
"You walk or ride?" he asked, his painted countenance as cold and hard
as steel.
"That depends upon you," replied Ned, "but I do hope you will let me
ride upon somebody's horse for this is mighty rough, I can tell you,"
and he emphasized his complaint by limping, apparently with great pain,
for a few steps. The chief looked at him very sharply for a few seconds,
and then showed that he believed him, if indeed, he held any doubt at
all. He motioned to one of the warriors who was leading a captive horse,
which was brought immediately to the spot. The stirrups were shortened,
so as to be in place for the boy's feet when he was helped into the
saddle.
"Oh! my leg! my leg!" he screamed, with an expression of intense agony,
when, actually, he felt not a particle of pain; "it seems to me, you
would rather hurt a chap than not."
No attention was paid to his complaint, and a minute later the whole
cavalcade was in motion.
The boy was a skillful horseman, having been taught to ride from the
time he could walk, and he found himself astride of one of the best
steeds that had belonged to the cavalry, although he could not identify
it. As he looked about him and examined the saddle, he caught sight of
the handle of a revolver in the holster, jammed down in such a way that
it had escaped the notice of their captors.
"That's to be mine," he whispered to himself, not a little pleased at
the discovery he had made.
He knew if this caught the eye of Lone Wolf or any of his warriors they
would not permit him to retain it, and he was so fearful that they would
see it that he began maneuvering with a view of getting it into his
possession. No one is more skillful at this sort of business than a boy
about his age. Ned groaned, and twisted forward and backward, as if to
seek relief, and when he finally secured a little more comfort and
resumed his upright position the revolver was safely hid beneath his
waistcoat, he having placed it there without attracting the eye of any
one. The little fellow felt braver on the instant. He suspected that if
he encountered Lone Wolf alone, and the chieftain dared to bar his
passage, he could use the revolver upon him with the same coolness that
Corporal Hugg would have done had he been alive.
"None of them suspect that I've got such a thing about me, and that
gives me the better chance," was his very sensible conclusion, as he
endeavored to put on an expression of blissful serenity.
When the sun was fairly up, the fifty Apache warriors were galloping in
a direct line toward the south, Lone Wolf at their head, and Ned
Chadmund riding at his side. The lad had made several inquiries of his
leader, but the latter repelled him so savagely that he wisely held his
peace. He supposed the Indians were going southward toward their
village. He remembered hearing his father speak of Lone Wolf as dwelling
pretty well to the southward, and that he had pronounced him to be one
of the most dangerous leaders among the fierce tribes of the Southwest.
The Apaches were now in a mountainous region, following a sort of trail
that was generally wide enough to permit a dozen to ride abreast if they
wished to do so. Occasionally it was rough and precipitous, winding in
and out, and now and then difficult to travel; but the wiry little
mustangs went along as unhesitatingly as mountain goats. Although they
were among the mountains, at times the air was oppressively hot, not a
particle of breeze reaching them.
It was little past noon when the party drew rein in a place very similar
to that wherein they encamped the night before. As the mustangs came to
a halt, their riders leaped to the ground, and, turning them over to the
care of a half dozen of their number, they refreshed themselves at a
stream running near at hand, the water of which was clear and cold, and
equally inviting to man and beast. Ned climbed down from his horse,
apparently with great difficulty and pain.
"May I go and get a drink?" he asked of Lone Wolf.
"Go," was the savage reply; "am I a dog to help you?"
"No; you're a dog without helping me," muttered the lad as he limped
away toward the wood, seeking a point a short distance below where the
others were helping themselves.
It took but a minute to reach a spot where for the time he was beyond
observation.
"The hour has come to make a stroke for freedom!" he exclaimed, suiting
the action to the word.