The mustang bearing captor and prisoner dropped into an easy gallop, passing entirely out of the valley and a short distance over the prairie, where, when he halted, he found himself amid some thirty or forty mounted Apaches.  Here a halt was made and the red-skins engaged in a consultation, which, as a matter of course, was conducted in their own language, and, consequently, was unintelligible to the lad, who was as deeply interested as any of them in the proceedings.

The scene was a strange one, and was so firmly impressed upon his memory that he was sure he could not forget it if he lived a hundred years.  The Indians he saw now for the first time with their animals perfectly motionless.  They were grouped around their chief in an irregular circle, and in the gathering darkness, with their long, coarse, black hair dangling over their shoulders; their low, scarcely perceptible foreheads; broad, misshapen, painted faces and their hideous figures, they formed as unearthly a scene as can be conjured up.  Several persisted in talking at the same moment, and they indulged liberally in gesture, so that it was very apparent that something exciting was before the convention.

What it was, Fred could not conjecture satisfactorily to himself.  He could not believe that he himself was regarded of sufficient importance to cause any such discussion, and from what he had heard of the war-chief, it did not seem probable that he would allow any such wrangle over a prisoner which he had in his own possession.  It surely was over some other matter, probably concerning the action of the Apaches, regarding which he had invited discussion; but whatever it was, Fred could only content himself with looking and listening.

The lad felt that he was as helpless as an infant, and, now that he had been given time to collect his senses, he stopped making any further effort to escape from his captor.  Knowing the uncontrollable temper of the Indians, he resolved not to provoke an outburst by any action of his own.  The wonder with him was, that the chief did not kill him the minute he found that he was in his power.  They had not shown any desire to make prisoners, when it was so much more easy to rid themselves of their captives by a blow from the tomahawk or the thrust of the knife.

“I suppose they mean to do something dreadful with me,” was the thought of Fred, as he shudderingly looked around upon the repulsive group.

There could be but little doubt of that, and he could do nothing but ask heaven to protect him in the terrible danger in which he was placed.  At such a time a person’s mind is unusually active and a hundred schemes agitated the mind of the young captive—­schemes which, when analyzed by the clear light of reason, were about as unsubstantial as the fabric of a dream.  Fred felt that if he was not killed immediately there was some chance for him.  A few hours, or at least a day or two, would give time for his friends