Everything now went with bewildering swiftness.  The Apaches, seeing their chief environed, rode forward to his assistance, while the hunter, revolver in hand, blazed away at him, determined to bring him to earth, now that he had the chance.  The activity of Lone Wolf was simply marvelous.

He darted here and there, dodged back and forth, and once or twice actually shot beneath the belly of his adversary’s mustang.  His antics were confusing, and, although Sut succeeded in wounding him, it seemed utterly impossible to disable him.

The hunter had already discharged his rifle when he slew the horse, and when he emptied his revolver, he was chagrined, furious, and baffled.

“I believe you’re the devil himself!” he exclaimed, ceasing his efforts to bring him down, “and I’ll let you go this time!”

He turned to flee when he saw that the Apaches were all about him.

CHAPTER XI HOT QUARTERS

The contest of Simpson with the wonderfully supple and sinewy Apache began and ended in a few seconds.  In the most thrilling moments the hunter did not forget his peril from outside barbarians.

The main war-party seeing the desperate straits of their leader, who was liable to be shot down by a ball from the revolver, galloped forward to his assistance, and, almost at the same moment the dozen horsemen that had set,out to head him off put in appearance, all coming from different directions, and converging toward the one point, where the veteran borderer was suddenly transformed from an aggressor into a deeply imperiled fugitive.

It was a time for “business” of the sternest kind, and the grizzled hunter went at it like one who understood what it meant.  Rifle and pistol were discharged, and, therefore, useless.  The former was slung over his back, and the latter was quickly jammed into his girdle.  In a twinkling he had his huge bowie in his right hand, and, shouting to his mustang, he headed out on the prairie, and made a dash for life and freedom.

At such a crisis, everything depends upon the sagacity and intelligence of the horse.  It requires something more than speed—­it needs a grasp of the “situation,” upon the part of the brute, and the guidance of his action which should result therefrom.  It was in this respect that Sut Simpson possessed an advantage which can scarcely be appreciated.  He made no attempt to guide or control the creature he bestrode; but, bending forward upon his back and clutching his terrible weapon in his hand, he uttered a shout, which the mustang interpreted as an appeal to do his best, and he proceeded to do so without an instant’s hesitation.

Still, it was vain to try to dodge through the converging warriors without coming in contact with them.  There were too many to permit any such performance, but the wall was not impenetrable.  Like an arrow from the bow sped the animal, and, seeing the point toward which he was aiming, the Apaches endeavored to close the gap.  The equine fugitive did not swerve in the least, and it looked as if he was plunging to his own destruction.