Shortly after, to his great surprise, he came upon his mustang, tied by a long lariat to the limb of a tree, and contentedly grazing upon the grass, which was quite abundant.  There was not the sign of an Indian visible.

“Skulp me! if that ain’t a purty way to manage such things!” he exclaimed, astonished at the shape the matter had taken.  “Them varmints couldn’t have knowed that Sut Simpson owned that hoss, or they’d have tied him up tighter than that, and they’d had somebody down yer to watch him; but they war a couple of greenys, that’s mighty sartin.  It’s a wonder they didn’t fetch out some of thar mustangs, and leave ’em whar I could lay my hands onto ’em.  But I rather think I’ve got my own hoss this time, as easy as a chap need expect to get anything in this world.”

There was something so curious in the fact of the horse being left alone that Sut was a little suspicious, and decided to reconnoitre thoroughly before venturing further.  He was partly hidden behind a large tree and had been so cautious and noiseless in his movements that his mustang, which was one of the quickest to detect the approach of any one, was unaware of his presence.

Sut was on the point of going forward, when a movement in the wood, on the other side of where the animal was grazing, attracted his attention, and he paused.  At the same instant his steed lifted his head.  There could be no doubt as to the cause, for within the next minute the figure of an Indian stepped forward toward the animal, and proceeded to examine him with a care and minuteness which showed that he expected to identify his ownership.

The eyes of Simpson lit up, and an expression of exultation crossed his countenance, not merely because the redskin before him was in his power, but because he recognized him as no one else but Lone Wolf, the Apache war-chief.

It looked as if the horse-thieves had approached the vicinity of camp with their plunder, and then, securing him to the branch of the tree, had gone in and reported what they had done.  Lone Wolf, suspecting, perhaps, that it was the property of his enemy, Sut Simpson, had stolen out quietly and alone to satisfy himself.  He knew all the “trade-marks” of the hunter so well that he could not be deceived.  This was the theory which instantly occurred to Sut, who muttered to himself: 

“Oh, it’s mine, and I’m here, though you don’t think it, and we’ll soon shake hands over it!”

The scout speedily assured himself that Lone Wolf was alone—­that he had no half-dozen “retainers” who would immediately precipitate themselves upon him the instant a row should begin.  Lone Wolf had no rifle with him, but carried his huge knife at his girdle—­one of the most formidable instruments ever seen.

As he walked slowly about the mustang, scrutinizing him very carefully, he brought himself within a yard or two of where Sut Simpson crouched.  The latter waited until he was the nearest, when he stepped forward, with his drawn knife in hand, and, placing himself directly in front of the astounded war-chief, said: