Not seeing that which he wished, he arose to his feet, and walked slowly along and away from where the fugitives were crouching.  That is, his face was turned toward the main ravine or pass, while he stepped upon the very edge of the fissure, moving with a certain deliberation and dignity, as he searched the space below for the man and boy whom he was so anxious to secure.

“I wonder if he ain’t the leader?” said Mickey, in a whisper.  “I never saw better shtyle than that.”

“I should think he was the leader.  Don’t you know him?”

“How should I know him?  I never traveled much in Injun society.  Are ye and him acquainted?”

“He’s Lone Wolf—­their great war-chief.”

“Ye don’t say so?” exclaimed the astonished Irishman, staring at him.  “He’s just the spalpeen I loaded me gun for, and here goes!”

Softly raising the hammer of his rifle, he lifted the weapon to his shoulder; but before he could make his aim certain, the red scamp stepped aside and vanished from view.

“Now, that’s enough to break a man’s heart!” wailed the chagrined Mickey.  “Why wasn’t the spalpeen thoughtful and kind enough to wait until I could have made sartin of him?  But sorra and disappointment await us all, as Barney Mulligan said when his friend wouldn’t fight him.  Maybe he’ll show himsilf agin.”

Whether or not Lone Wolf learned of the precise location of the parties for whom he was searching can only be conjectured; but during the ten minutes that Mickey held his weapon ready to shoot him at sight, he took good care to keep altogether invisible.

The Irishman was still looking for his reappearance, when another singular occurrence took place.  There was a whoop, or rather howl, followed by a fall of a warrior, who was so near the edge of the narrow ravine that when he came down, a portion of his body was seen by those below.  The dull and rather distant report of a gun told the curious story.

The same rifle that had picked off one of the Apaches at the mouth of the fissure had done the same thing in the case of one at the top.  The aim in both instances was unerring.

“Freddy, me lad,” said Mickey, a moment later, “whin we rushed in here wid the spalpeens snapping at our heels, I hadn’t any more hope that we’d ever get clear of ’em than the man who was transported to Botany Bay had of cutting out Prince Albert in Queen Victoria’s graces.”

“Have you any more hope now?”

“I have; we’ve got a friend on the outside, and he’s doing us good sarvice, as he has already proved.  If Lone Wolf wasn’t among that crowd, I don’t belave they would stay after what has took place; there’s nothing to scare an Injun like them things which he don’t understand.”

“I should think that that rifle-shot is proof enough that somebody is firing into them.”

“Be the powers, but ye know little of Injin devilments, as I’ve larned ’em from Soot Simpson.  How do ye know but that’s a thrick to make these Apaches belave that there’s but a single Kiowa over there popping at them, when there may be half a hundred waiting for the chance to clean them out?”