There was a momentary check, a sudden stoppage, lasting but a few seconds, when the foe rallied and made for the fugitive.  But that brief interval of time was precisely what was needed, and it secured the safety of Mickey and his steed.  It mattered not that Sut Simpson as good as threw away his life by his chivalrous act.  He knew that full well, while awaiting the opportunity, as much as he did when he raised his faithful weapon and discharged it into the group.

The moment the piece was fired he knew that his mission was accomplished, and he began a retreat, moving stealthily and rapidly backward, for the purpose of getting beyond the range of the redskins before they should fairly recover from the escape of the horseman.  But events were proceeding rather too rapidly.  Before he could cover any appreciable distance, the baffled wretches turned upon him and it was flight or fight, or, more likely, both.

The Apaches were brave, they knew the character of the dreaded scout and they were not desirous of rushing, one after another, to their doom.  Sut was certain that, if he should turn and run, the howling horde would be at his heels.  The instant there should appear any possibility of his escape, they would all open upon him, and it was impossible that any such good fortune should attend him as had marked the flight of Mickey.  It was his purpose, therefore, to keep up his retreat with his face to his foe, forcing all to maintain their distance, until he could reach the side of the ravine, where, possibly, a sudden desperate effort might enable him to outwit the redskins.

The scout had not yet been given time in which to reload his piece, but the uncertainty whether it contained another charge prevented them from making an impetuous rush upon him.  Besides, they knew that he carried a formidable knife, and, like every border character, he was a professor of the art of using it.  All at once it occurred to Sut that he might thin out his assailants by the use of his revolver.  If he could drop three or four, or more, and then follow it up with a savage onslaught, he believed he could open the way.  He felt for the weapon, and was terribly disappointed to find it gone.

He recalled that he had given it to Fred Munson when he was left alone with the mustang.  So, as he had nothing but his knife, he placed his hand upon the haft, glaring defiantly at his enemies, while he continued walking slowly backward, and gradually edging toward the side of the grove.  But Apaches were plenty in that latitude, and the business had scarcely opened when three or four warriors commenced a stealthy approach upon the scout from the rear.  He glanced hastily over his shoulder several times, while slowly retreating, to guard against this very danger; but the Indians, seeing the point for which the fugitive was making, ensconced themselves near it and waited.

At the moment Sut placed his hand upon the knife, he was within twenty feet of the three Indians crouching in the grass, with no suspicion of their proximity.  One of them arose to his feet, quietly swung a coiled lasso about his head (the distance being so slight that no great effort was necessary), and then with great dexterity dropped it over the head of the unsuspicious scout, inclosing his arms, when he jerked it taut with the suddenness of lightning.