Urrea began to speak.  Ned could not hear his words, but he knew by the movement of the man’s lips that he was talking fast.  Undoubtedly he was taunting the prisoners with words as well as looks.  But neither Obed nor the Ring Tailed Panther made any sign that he heard.  They continued to lean carelessly against the tree, and Urrea, his desire to give pain foiled for the time, went away.

Now Ned bestirred his mind.  Here were the Mexicans, and here were his friends.  How should he separate them?  He could think of nothing at present and he drew back deeper into the forest.  There, lying very close among the bushes, he pondered a long time.  He might try to stampede the horses, but the attempt would be more than doubtful, and he gave up the idea.

It was now growing late and the fires in the Mexican camp were sinking.  The wind began to blow, and the leaves rustled dryly over Ned’s head.  Best thoughts sometimes spring from little things, and it was the dry rustle of the leaves that gave Ned his idea.  It was a desperate chance, but he must take it.  The increasing strength of the wind increased his hope.  It was blowing from him directly toward the camp.

He retreated about a quarter of a mile.  Then he hunted until he found where the fallen leaves lay thickest, and he raked them into a great heap.  Drawing both the flint and steel which he, like other borderers, always carried, he worked hard until the spark leaped forth and set the leaves on fire.  Then he stood back.

The forest was dry like tinder.  Ned had nothing to do but to set the torch.  In an instant the leaves leaped into a roaring flame.  The blaze ran higher, took hold of the trees and ran from bough to bough.  It sprang to other trees, and, in an incredibly brief space, a forest fire, driven by the wind, sending forth sparks in myriads, and roaring and crackling, was racing down upon the Mexican camp.

Ned kept behind the fire and to one side.  Sparks fell upon him, and the smoke was in his eyes and ears, but he thought little just then of such things.  The fire, like many others of its kind, took but a narrow path.  It was as if a flaming sword blade were slashed down across the woods.

Ned saw it through the veil of smoke rush upon the Mexican camp.  He saw the startled Mexicans running about, and he heard the shrill neigh of frightened horses.  Never was a camp abandoned more quickly.  The men sprang upon their horses and scattered in every direction through the woods.  Two on horseback crowded by Ned.  They did not see him, nor did he pay any attention to them, but when a third man on foot came, running at the utmost speed, the boy seized him by the shoulder, and was dragged from his feet.

“It is I, Obed!” he cried.  “It is I, Ned Fulton!”

Obed White stopped abruptly and the Ring Tailed Panther, unable to check himself, crashed into him.  The three, men and boy, went to the ground, where they lay for a few moments among the bushes, half stunned.  It was a fortunate chance, as Urrea, who had retained his presence of mind, was on horseback looking for the prisoners, and he passed so near that he would have seen them had they been standing.