tle fire under his fellow-man and see if that wouldn't help. However
there are ways which answer just as well, and Wunpost packed and mounted
and rode down past the trap. Or at least he tried to, but his mules were
so frightened that it took all his strength to haze them past. As for
Good Luck, he flew at the Indian in a fury of barking and was nearly
struck dead by a rock. The Apache was fighting mad, until Wunpost came
back and tamed him; and then Wunpost spoke straight out.

"Here, you!" he said, "you savvy coyote? You want him come eat you up?
Well, _talk_ then, you dastard; or I'll go off and leave you. Come
through now--who brought you over here?"

The Apache looked up at him from under his banged hair and his evil eyes
roved fearfully about.

"Big fat man," he lied and Wunpost smiled grimly--he would tell this
later to Eells.

"Nope," he said and shook his head warningly at which the Indian seemed
to meditate his plight.

"Big tall man," he amended and Wunpost nodded.

"Sure," he said. "What name you callum?"

"Callum Lynchie," admitted the Apache with a sickly grin, "she come San
Carlos--busca scout."

"Oh, _busca_ scout, eh?" repeated Wunpost. "What for wantum scout?
Plenty Shooshonnie scout, over here."

"Hah! Shooshonnie no good!" spat the Apache contemptuously. "Me
_scout_--me work for Government! Injun scout--you savvy? Follow
tracks for soldier. Me Manuel Apache--big chief!"

"Yes, big chief!" scoffed Wunpost, "but you ain't no scout, Manuel, or
you wouldn't be caught here in this trap. Now listen, Mr. Injun--you
want to go home? You want to go see your squaw? Well, s'pose I let you
loose, what you think you're going to do--follow me up and shoot me for
Lynch?"

"No! No shootum for Lynchie!" denied the Apache vigorously.
"Lynchie--she say, _busca_ mine! _Busca_ gol' mine, savvy--but
'nother man she say, you ketchum plenty money--in pants."

"O-ho!" exclaimed Wunpost as the idea suddenly dawned on him and once
more he experienced a twinge of regret. This time it was for the
occasion when he had shown scornful Blackwater that seven thousand
dollars in bills. And he had with him now--in his pants, as the Indian
said--no less than thirty thousand dollars in one roll. And all because
he had lost his faith in banks.

"You shoot me--get money?" he inquired, slapping his leg; and Manuel
Apache grinned guiltily. He was caught now, and ashamed, but not of
attempting murder--he was ashamed of having