ar out to the front he could see that one of the Indian
scouts had halted and was making signs. It took five minutes hard riding
to reach him.

"What did you see? What has happened?" he gasped.

"Heap fire!" answered the Hualpai. "See?" But Gwynne's worn eyes could
only make out the great mass of the mountain with its dark covering of
stunted trees. He saw, however, that the scout was eagerly watching his
comrades now so long a distance ahead. Presently the Indian shouted in
excitement:

"Fight! Fight! Heap shoot, there!" and then at last the father's almost
breaking heart regained a gleam of hope; a new light flashed in his
eyes, new strength seemed to leap through his veins. Even his poor horse
seemed to know that a supreme effort was needed and gamely answered the
spur. Waving his hat above his head and shouting back to Turner "Come
on!" the captain dashed away in pursuit of Sieber. Turner's men could
hear no sound, but they saw the excitement in the signal; saw the sudden
rush of Gwynne's steed, and nothing more was needed. "Gallop," rang the
trumpet, and with carbines advanced and every eye on the dark gorge,
still three miles before them, the riders of the beautiful "chestnut
sorrel" troop swept across the plains.

Meantime the savage fight was going on and the defense was sorely
pressed. Covered by the smoke caused by fresh armfuls of green wood
hurled upon the fiery furnace in front of the cave, the vengeful Apaches
had crawled to within a few yards of where the little breastwork had
stood. Obedient to Pike's stern orders Kate had crept to the remotest
corner of the recess and lay there flat upon the rock, holding Nellie in
her arms. The corporal had bound a handkerchief about his left arm, for
some of the besiegers, finding bullets of no avail, were firing Tonto
arrows so that they fell into the mouth of the cave, and one of these
had torn a deep gash midway between the elbow and the shoulder. Another
had struck him on the thigh. Jim, too, had a bloody scratch. It stung
and hurt and made him grit his teeth with rage and pain. Little Ned,
sorely against his will, was screened by his father's saddle and some
blankets, but he clung to his Ballard and the hope of at least one more
shot.

And still, though sorely pressing the besieged, the Indians kept close
under cover. The lessons of the morning had taught them that the pale
faces could shoot fast and straight. They had lost heavily and could
afford no more