Mickey was still yelling in his defiant way, with the long, lank figure of the scout trotting along in the rear, when one, two, three, fully a half dozen Apaches sprang from the ground ahead of the Irishman, and, as if they divined his purpose, all began converging toward the opening which was the goal of the fugitive.  But it would have made no difference to the latter if a score had appeared across his path.  He hammered the ribs of his mustang with his heels, urging him to the highest possible speed of which he was capable.  Then he replaced his cap, added an extra yell or two, raised his rifle and sighted best as he could at the nearest Indian.  When he pulled the trigger, he missed the mark probably twenty feet, for it was a kind of business to which Mickey was unaccustomed.

The Apaches threw themselves across his path, in the hope of checking the mustang so as to secure the capture of the rider; but the animal abated not a tittle, and strained every nerve to carry his owner through the terrible gauntlet.  One of the redskins, fearful that the fugitive was going to escape in spite of all they could do, raised his gun, with the purpose of tumbling him to the ground.  Before he could do anything, he dropped his gun, threw up his arms with a howl, and tumbled over backward.  Sut Simpson was near enough at hand to send in the shot that wound up his career.

By this time, something like a sober second thought came to Mickey, who saw that his horse comprehended what was expected of him, and needing do further direction or urging.  He realized, furthermore, that he had, by the impetuous movement of the animal, thrown all his foes in the rear, and they being unmounted, and anxious to check his flight, were certain to give him the contents of their rifles.  Accordingly he threw himself forward upon the neck of the steed, scarcely a second before the crack of the rifles were heard in every direction.  The hurtling bullets passed fearfully near, and more than once Mickey believed he was struck.  But his horse kept on with unabated speed, and a minute after thundered up the slope, and he and his rider were beyond the reach of all their bullets.

CHAPTER XXVI.

LONE WOLF’S TACTICS.

Mickey O’Rooney gave a yell of defiance as he vanished from view, horse and rider unharmed by the scattering shots which followed them, even after they were lost to sight.  It was well and bravely done, and yet it would have failed altogether but for the wonderful cunning and shrewd courage of Simpson, who had kept close to the heels of the flying horse.  It was when the crisis came—­when the Apaches were closing around the fugitive, and it seemed inevitable that he should reap the natural reward of his own foolhardiness that Sut had acted.  When the warriors were confident of their success, he discharged his rifle with marvelous quickness, and with a more important result than the mere tumbling over of his man.