His blanket being thrown aside, he was naked, with the exception of a breech-cloth.  His feet were of large size, encased in shabby moccasins, while frowsy leggins dangled between the knee and ankle.  His body, from the breech-cloth to the shoulders, was splashed and daubed with a half dozen kinds of paint, while his black, thin hair straggled about his shoulders and was smeared in the same fashion.  Like most of the Indians of the Southwest, he wore no scalp-lock, but allowed his hair to hang like a woman’s, not even permitting it to be gathered with a band, nor ornamenting it with the customary stained eagle-feathers.  His arms were also bare, with the exception of the wrists, around which were tied bracelets, which, no doubt, he considered very attractive.  The boy could fancy what a repulsive face he possessed.

Step by step, inch by inch, the young hero made his way, his eyes fixed upon the savage with a burning intensity, until it seemed that he would burn him through and through.  And the Apache heard him not, although they were no more than ten feet apart.

“He will hear the thumping of my heart,” was the constant fear of the boy.

Slowly lifting one foot, he put in on the ground as softly as if it were held in a slipper of eiderdown.  He was treading upon a thin growth of grass, interspersed plentifully with gravel, but he never once looked to see what he was stepping upon.  Indeed, he could not remove his eyes from the one central figure of his thoughts and vision.

One obstruction, no matter how slight—­the turning of a pebble, a slip, even the most trivial, and the Apache would turn like lightning, and be upon him in a flash.  Two more steps were taken, and only eight feet separated the lad and the Indian, and still the latter remained all unconscious of what was going on.  Fred’s heart was throbbing violently, but he retained control of himself.  He felt that the critical moment was close at hand.  A slight advance more, and the attempt was to be made.

He grasped the handle of the revolver more firmly than ever, but he raised his foot for another step, feeling that the distance was still too great.  At this juncture the Indian moved!

He stepped one pace backward directly toward the boy, and he looked up and away.  But not behind him.  The glance was a mere casual one.  He had heard nothing, and he expected to see nothing, when he looked off in the manner mentioned.

The Apache remained standing in this attitude for a minute.  Then he stepped forward and resumed his former position on the edge of the opening, still clinging to the lasso, as if in constant expectation of some signal.

During this little episode Fred remained as motionless as if cast in bronze.  His eyes were still centred upon the Indian, and he partially drew his revolver from the girdle he wore about his body, with the expectation of using it.  But when his foe gave his attention to the cave below, the lad softly shoved the weapon back in its place, and again raised his foot.