sides anyhow. Come out of it. You and
Walsh can slip down as we open fire. We'll just let drive in every
direction until you are safe below."

Drummond hesitates. He sees a half-pleading look in Walsh's honest
face. The Irishman would willingly tackle the whole tribe in open
fight, but what he doesn't like is the idea of being potted like a
caged tiger, never knowing whence came the shot that laid him low.
Then the lieutenant peers about him. Yes, it is exposed to fire from a
point in the cliffs to the west, and there are rocks over there to the
north that seem to command it; but if abandoned there will be no way
of preventing a bold advance on part of the Apaches up the rugged
eastward slope. It would then stand between the defenders and the
assailants, giving to the latter incalculable advantage. Hold it he
must for a few minutes at least, until, recalling McGuffey, he can set
him and one or two others to work piling up a rock barricade in front
of the cave. Then if driven out and no longer able to stand the
Indians off, they can retire into the caves themselves, hide their
precious charges in the farthest depths, and then, like Buford at
Gettysburg, "fight like the devil" till rescue come.

"No, down with you, Costigan," he answers. "Get McGuffey and Fritz;
block up the front of the cave with rocks; move in those Moreno women;
carry Sergeant Wing back to the farther cave,--Miss Harvey will show
you where. Stand fast the rest of you. Don't let an Indian close in on
us."

"Look, lieut'nant," whispers Walsh; "they're coming up down beyant you
there."

And, peeping through a narrow slit left in his parapet, Drummond can
just see bobbing among the bowlders far down towards the willow copse
two or three Apache crests,--Apache unmistakably, because of the
dirty-white turban-like bandages about the matted black locks. At that
distance they advance with comparative security. It is when they come
closer to the defenders that they will be lost to view.

Obedient to his orders, Costigan slips out of his shelter and "takes a
sneak" for the edge of the cliff. In an instant, from half a dozen
points above, below, and on both sides, there come the flash and crack
of rifles. The dust is kicked up under his nimble feet, but he reaches
unharmed the cleft in which some rude steps have been hacked, and
goes, half sliding, half scraping, down into the cooler depths below.

"Mother of Moses!" he groans, "but we'll never get the lie