CHAPTER XIII.

In the Nick of time.

Leaving his mustang in charge of Fred, the Irishman turned to the right, and followed the stream into the rocks.  The course was so winding that he speedily disappeared from sight.  The boy, who was compelled to sit still and await his return, at perhaps the most dangerous portion of the road, felt anything but comfortable over the erratic proceeding of his friend.  But, fortunately, the latter had been gone but a short time when he reappeared, hurrying forward as if somebody was at his heels.

“It’s all right,” he remarked, as he sprang into the saddle, took up the reins, and started on.  “I think the Apaches are there, though I can’t be sartin; but I found out what I wanted to l’arn.”

Then he explained that he followed up the stream to the place where it came from beneath the rocks, which formed a part of the wall of the cave, where a curious fact attracted his attention.  In its passage beneath the stone the tunnel widened and flattened, so that, where it shot forth to the sunlight again, its width was some twenty feet, and its depth only a few inches.  The appearance it presented was very much like that of the gates of a mill-pond when they have been slightly raised to allow a discharge of water beneath.  Through the passage-way thus afforded no living person could have forced his way; and, had Mickey O’Rooney attempted it, nothing in the world could have saved him from drowning.  The Irishman himself realized it, and was thankful enough that he had refrained from making the desperate attempt.

The two continued their sweeping gallop for several hours, during which they did not catch a glimpse of Indians, but they were alarmed by hearing the reports of guns at no great distance on the right.  The firing was irregular, sometimes several shots being heard together, and then they were more of a dropping character.  This showed that a fight of some kind was going on, but as to its precise nature they could only conjecture.  It might be that a party of Comanches and Apaches, or Kiowas, or hunters were enjoying a hot time, but the two friends were glad to get out of the neighborhood as speedily as possible.  At noon they enjoyed the satisfaction of knowing that they had made good and substantial progress on the way home.  There was an abundance of grass and water, and when the sun was overhead they went into camp.

“I’m as hungry as a panther that has been fasting for a month,” said Mickey, as he dismounted; “and I haven’t got a mouthful of food lift.  There ain’t any use of a chap starving to death to accommodate anybody else, and I don’t mane to do the same.”

Fred Munson’s hunger was scarcely less than his, but the boy would have been willing to have undergone still more, rather than incur the risk that was now inevitable.  But Mickey saw nothing to be gained by such a course and contended that they should give their attention to the wants of their bodies, before they were weakened by fasting and fatigue.