As soon as the halt was made, Lone Wolf gave a sort of address to his warriors, which Fred believed to be a sort of harangue, intended to incite them to deeds of greater daring than any they had as yet shown.  The red-skins became much excited, and answered his appeals with angry shouts, grunts and gestures.  No doubt, had he chosen to lead them, they would have rushed back to a second attack upon New Boston, without the addition of another warrior to their number.  The oratory of Lone Wolf was not very graceful, but it was very effective.  He knew how to appeal to his followers in a way that went directly to their hearts.

CHAPTER XIII THE ENCAMPMENT

Immediately after the harangue of Lone Wolf a general dismounting of the warriors followed, and the mustangs, which showed admirable training, were left to themselves.  The halt had been made where there was grass and water, to which the animals now paid their attention, while their owners prepared for their morning meal.

There was a certain system in all this apparent confusion, and, it being known that a halt would be made at this point, a half dozen of the most skilful hunters of the party had scattered among the mountains in quest of game.  By the time several fires were fairly under way, these providers began dropping in, all of them laden with spoils of the chase, which were dressed and boiling over the different camp-fires in an incredibly short time.  The Apaches had reduced this thing to a science, and a company of trained soldiers could not have done the thing more expeditiously than did they.

While it was all going on, Fred Munson walked to the brook near at hand, and taking a deep draught from the icy water, he stood somewhat apart from the others, watching the proceedings with a strange interest.

At first he failed to understand one thing.  He knew, from what he had seen, that at least a dozen of the Apaches had been killed, and as many wounded, on the night before during the fight.  Yet not one of these was visible, with the exception, perhaps, of Lone Wolf, whose scratches from Sut Simpson’s bullets were of a superficial nature.  The only explanation of the absence of these parties was that they had gone home.  Under the charge of a strong escort they had taken another route, and were probably miles away at that moment, and most likely in their own wigwams, receiving the nursing and attention required.

“I wonder whether there is any chance of my getting away?” mused the lad, as he looked searchingly about him.  “If a fellow could only get the start, there are plenty of places where he might hide; but there’s where the trouble is.”

On the right and left of the gorge were precipitous mountains, evidently broken by chasms, ravines, and covered with patches of wood, their elevation being so moderate that no snow was visible upon their tops, while the scene was wild and forbidding in the extreme.