“If that gintleman begins the serenade from the other side, it’s me bounden duty to kaap it up from this,” concluded the Irishman, as he cocked his rifle and awaited his chance.

It was not long in coming.  Only a few minutes had passed after the shot, when a couple of Apaches walked rapidly to view, and, approaching the remains of their comrade, stooped down to carry him away.

Mickey allowed them to get fairly started, when he blazed away at the foremost, and had the satisfaction of seeing the rear Apache not only deprived of his assistance, but his duty suddenly doubled.  The warrior, however, stuck pluckily to the work, and dragged both out of view without any assistance from those who were ready to rush to his help.

These two, or rather three, rifle shots produced the strongest kind of effect upon the Apaches.  They could not well fail to do so, for they were not only fired with unerring aim, but they came from such diverse points as to show the redskins that instead of having their enemies cooped up in this narrow ravine, they had, in one sense, placed themselves between two fires.

Hurriedly reloading his rifle, Mickey waited several minutes, determined to fire the instant he got the chance, with the purpose of enhancing the demoralization of the wretches.  But they had received enough to teach them caution, and as the minutes passed, they failed to expose themselves.  They had taken to shelter somewhere, and were not yet ready to uncover.

“When Mickey had waited a considerable time, he concluded to rejoin Fred Munson, who, no doubt, was anxious over the result of his reconnoissance.  When he returned he found him seated upon the boulder, instead of behind it.  The Irishman hastily explained what had taken place, and added: 

“I don’t know what they will do next, but we’ve give the spalpeens a dose that will kaap them in the background for a while.”

“No, it won’t, either,” was the significant response.

“What do you maan, me laddy?”

“I mean that the Apaches, or some of them, anyway, have changed their base.  I’ve heard something overhead that makes me sure they’re up there, getting up some kind of deviltry.”

CHAPTER XVII.

A FORTUNATE DIVERSION.

Mickey O’Rooney had not thought of the “opening” over their heads since the firing of his rifle-shot, and he now started and looked upward, as if fearful that he had committed a fatal oversight.  But he saw or heard nothing to excite alarm.

“Where are they?” he asked, in a whisper.

“They’re up there.  I’ve seen them peep down more than once.”

“What were they paaping for?”

“I suppose to find out where we were.”

“Be the powers, but I showed them where I was when I fired me gun!”

“That maybe; but you didn’t stay there, and perhaps they were looking for me.”