There were grunts of pleasure, as this fact was gathered by the redskins.  The experiments had been satisfactory and they were prepared to venture upon the more dangerous and decisive one—­the one which they intended should bring matters to a focus.

Fred was in doubt what this plan was to be until he saw the blanket unfolded and as carefully wrapped around the form of one of the Apaches, encasing him from head to foot.  Great pains were taken to hide his head and feet from view, the warrior lying upon his back, and suffering himself to be “done up” with as much thoroughness as if he were a choice sample of dry-goods.  Viewed from a disinterested stand-point, the wonder was how he was to breathe in such wrappings.

“They have tried the blanket, and finding that was not disturbed, they’re going to send down one of their number, thinking that if Mickey does see it he’ll believe it is the same blanket, and won’t fire at it, because he didn’t fire at the other.”

It looked very venturesome upon the part of the warrior thus to enter the lion’s den.  But while, as a rule, the Indians of the Southwest are treacherous and cowardly, there are occasional instances in which they show an intrepidity equal to that of the most daring white scouts.

When everything was arranged to the satisfaction of all, three of the most stalwart Apaches braced themselves, with the lasso grasped between them, while a fourth carefully piloted the body over the edge of the opening, and began slowly lowering it to the bottom.

The bravest man, placed in the position of the enwrapped redskin could not have avoided some tremor, when he knew that he was hanging in midair, in plain view of the rifleman who had separated the thong which supported the blanket in the first attempt.  The Indian must have experienced strange emotions; but if he did, he gave no evidence.  He remained as passive as a log, his purpose being to imitate the appearance of the first bundle.

“Now, if Mickey let’s that go down without sending a bullet through it, he hasn’t got one half the sense that I think he has.”

Fred was hasty and impatient at the seeming success which marked everything that the red-skins undertook.  He looked and listened for some evidence that the Irishman was “there;” but no dull, subterranean report told him of the fatal rifle-shot, while the three Apaches continued steadily lowering their comrade with as much coolness and deliberation as if not the slightest particle of danger threatened.  Minute after minute passed, and the lad was in deep despair.  It could not be, he was compelled to think, that Mickey O’Rooney was anywhere in the vicinity.  He must be a long distance away, searching for his young friend, not knowing, and, perhaps, not caring about the Apaches.  He might consider that, within the darkness of the cave, they all had an equal advantage, and he could hold his own against each and every one.  There was no denying that the defender had a vast advantage over those who might come into his “castle,” provided he was really aware of their movements, but it was this doubt that caused the boy his uneasiness.