“I don’t want a horse if we’ve got to murder a man to git the same.”

“But the only way out here to treat an Injin is to shoot him the minute yer see him—­that’s sensible.”

“I don’t want ye to do it,” said Mickey, so pleadingly that the scout could not refuse.

“Wal, keep still and don’t interfere, and I promise yer I won’t slide him under, onless he gits in the way, and won’t git out.”

“All right,” responded Mickey, not exactly sure that he understood him, but willing to trust one who was not without his rude traits of manhood.

All this took place in a few seconds, during which the Apache horseman had approached, and another moment’s delay would have given him a good chance of escape by flight.  As noiselessly as a shadow the scout arose from his knees to a stooping position, took a couple of long, silent strides forward, and then straightened up, directly in front of the startled horse, and still more startled rider.  The former snorted, and partly reared up, but seemed to understand, as if by an instinct, that the stranger was more entitled to claim him than the one upon his back.  Another step forward and the scout held the bridle in his left hand, while he addressed the astounded Apache in his own tongue, a liberal translation being as follows: 

“Let my brother, the dog of an Apache, slide off that animile, and vamoose the ranch, or I’ll lift his ha’r quicker’n lightning.”

The savage deemed it advisable to “slide.”  He carried a knife at his girdle, and held a rifle in his grasp, but the scout had come upon him so suddenly that he felt he was master of the situation.  So without attempting to argue the matter with him, he dropped to the ground, and began retreating up the ravine, with his face toward his conquerer, as if he mistrusted treachery.

“Our blessing go wid ye,” said Mickey, rising to his feet, and waving his hand toward the alarmed Apache; “we don’t want to harm ye, and ye may go in pace.  There, Soot,” he added, as he came up beside him, “we showed that spalpeen marcy whin he scarcely had the right to expict it, and he will appreciate the same.”

“Ye’re right,” grunted the scout.  “He’ll show ye how he’ll appreciate it the minute he gets a chance to draw bead onto yer; but ye’ve larned that thar are plenty of varmints in this section, and if we’re going to get away with this hoss thar ain’t no time to lose.  Up with yer thar and take the bridle.”

Mickey did as he requested, not exactly understanding what the intention was.

“What is to be done?” he asked, as the head of the animal was turned back over the route that he had just traveled.  “Am I to ride alone, while ye walk beside me?”

“That’s the idea for the present, so as to save the strength of the horse.  A half mile or so up the pass is a trail which leads down inter it.  The mustang can go over that like a streak of greased lightning, and thar’s whar we’ll leave the pass, and make off through the woods and mountains, till we can jine in with the younker and go it without trouble.”