“It may be that the spalpeens mean to make a rush upon me,” he muttered, as he halted near the end of the fissure, “in which case I shall have a delightful employment in cracking their pates as they come up and take their turn.”

He remained where he was a few minutes longer, and, seeing no prospect of learning anything additional, he resumed his advance until he reached a point where it was only necessary to draw the branches slightly apart to gain a view of the main ravine.  And this he proceeded to do in the gentlest and most cautious manner possible.

The view was satisfactory, as it showed him that the Apaches were gathered at the entrance to the fissure and were taking matters very coolly and philosophically.  Several were on horses, and a number on foot.  Among the mustangs moving about, the Irishman recognized his own, astride of which was a dirty-looking Apache, with a wide mouth and broken nose.

“Ye ould spalpeen,” muttered the indignant Irishman, “if it wasn’t for fear of spoiling your wonderful booty, I’d turn you somersets off that hoss of mine, which I shall have to whitewash after getting him back, on account of your contact wid the same.”

Mickey was strongly tempted to send a bullet after the tantalizing horse-thief, but he thought he could wait awhile.  He was extremely cautious in making his stealthy view, only moving enough leaves to permit the service of his eyes and he had not enjoyed this prospect long before he believed that he had been detected.

Of the twenty-odd members comprising the Apache party, about a dozen were constantly in view, the others being too far to the right or left to be seen.  The group was an irregular and straggling one, the most interesting portion being five or six, who stood close together, exactly at the base of the fissure, talking with each other.  It was impossible that there should be more than one subject of discussion; and the dispute, as Mickey suspected, was as to the precise method of disposing of the job which had been placed in their hands.

Some, evidently, favored a daring charge directly up the narrow ravine, with its short, fierce encounter and sure victory.  Others had a different plan, and their gestures led the eavesdropper to suspect that they advocated reaching them from the roof, while it was apparent that there were those who insisted upon waiting until the fruit should become ripe enough to fall into their laps without shaking.  There could be little doubt that the Apaches preferred to take both prisoners, instead of shooting or tomahawking them in a fight.  They were under the inspiration of Lone Wolf, who believed that a live man was much more valuable than a dead one.

While Mickey was watching this group with an interest which may be imagined, he noticed that a short, thick, greasy, filthy warrior was looking directly toward him, with a steadiness which caused the Irishman to suspect that his presence was known.  The Indian, like all of them, was as homely as he could be.  He, too, had gone through an attack of smallpox, which had left his broad face so deeply pitted that it could be noticed through the vari-colored paint which was daubed thereon.  There was scarcely any forehead, the black, piercing eyes were far apart, and when Mickey saw them turned toward him, he felt anything but comfortable under their fire.