The hour that succeeded made little change in the situation.  The action of this redskin showed that he occasionally received and sent messages—­most probably by the subterranean telegraph—­but he shifted his position very little.  While he was thus engaged, Fred Munson was intently occupied with another scheme, and he had speedily wrought himself into a high pitch of excitement.

“I believe I can do it,” he muttered, more than once, as he revolved the desperate scheme in his mind; but, whatever his plan was, he waited in the hope that fortune would appear more propitious.

When the Apache had sat thus for some time, he changed his position.  He had been lying with his side toward the lad, but now he sat up, with his back to him, and as close to the edge of the opening as was prudent, while he held the lasso in his hand, like the fisherman on the bank of a stream, who patiently waits and is sensitive to the slightest nibbling at the other end of his line.

He had scarcely settled himself in this position when Fred Munson changed his own.  Rising from the ground where he had lain so long, he stepped over the ridge, and advanced directly toward the redskin, who harbored no suspicion that there was any of his race in his neighborhood.  The plan the lad had resolved upon required nerve, resolution and quickness.  He stepped as lightly as was consistent with speed until he had passed half the distance, when he began to slacken his gait and to proceed with greater caution than ever.

All depended upon his ability to keep from being heard or detected.  Of course, he had no wish to engage in a fight with one of these fierce warriors, but he was prepared, even for that.  His hand rested upon the hilt of his revolver, so that he could whip it out at an instant’s warning and discharge it, as he meant to do if necessary.

It was while he was yet some distance from the redskin that Fred felt that his position was one of frightful peril.  His foe had his rifle within easy reach, and, if he turned too soon, he could pick off his young assailant before he should arrive within striking distance,—­but each moment raised the hopes of the lad.

CHAPTER VI.

A daring exploit.

A veteran Comanche warrior could not have advanced with greater skill than did young Munson approach the unconscious Apache.  The warriors who had taken this little business in hand seemed to have cleared away the treacherous ground surrounding the opening, so that it was not likely to give way beneath their weight, even when they advanced close to the edge.  The single redskin who remained seemed to have shifted his position more for the purpose of relieving himself from his cramped posture than anything else.

He was standing erect, about a foot away from the edge, with the lasso in both hands, looking down into the cavern of gloom below, listening and watching, with the sense of touch also on the alert.  His blanket and rifle lay at one side, out of the way, but where they could be reached at a single leap, if necessary.  The end of the lasso was still fastened to the rock, but the savage held it loosely, so that the slightest twitch upon it would become known to him on the instant.