ld I not go? I
have been stationed among the Apaches for the last five years and have
fought them all over Arizona. Surely I ought to know how to take care of
myself."

"I don't doubt that, captain. It's the kids I'm thinking of. The
renegades from the reservation are out in great numbers now and they are
supposed to be all down in the Tonto Basin, but I've seen their moccasin
tracks everywhere from the Colorado Chiquito across the 'Mogeyone,' and
I'm hurrying in to Verde now to give warning and turn the troops this
way."

"Well, why didn't they attack you, then, Al?"

The party thus addressed by the familiar diminutive of "Al" paused a
moment before reply, an odd smile flitting about his bearded lips. A
stronger, firmer type of scout and frontiersman than Al Sieber never sat
in saddle in all Arizona in the seventies, and he was a noted character
among the officers, soldiers, pioneers, and Apaches. The former
respected and trusted him. The last named feared him as they did the
Indian devil. He had been in fight after fight with them; had had his
share of wounds, but--what the Apaches recoiled from in awe was the fact
that he had never met them in the field without laying one at least of
their number dead in his tracks. He was a slim-built, broad-shouldered,
powerful fellow, with a keen, intelligent face, and eyes that were
kindly to all his friends, but kindled at sight of a foe. A
broad-brimmed, battered slouch hat was pulled well down over his brows;
his flannel shirt and canvas trousers showed hard usage; his pistol belt
hung loose and low upon his hips and on each side a revolver swung. His
rifle--Arizona fashion--was balanced athwart the pommel of his saddle,
and an old Navajo blanket was rolled at the cantle. He wore Tonto
leggins and moccasins, and a good-sized pair of Mexican spurs jingled at
his heels. He looked--and so did his horse--as though a long, hard ride
was behind them, but that they were ready for anything yet.

"It makes a difference, captain--their attacking me or you. I've been
alive among 'em so many years that they have grown superstitious.
Sometimes I half believe they think I can't be killed. Then, too, I may
have slipped through unnoticed, but you--with all this outfit--why!
you're sure to be spotted, followed, and possibly ambushed in Sunset
Pass. It's the worst place along the route."

Captain Gwynne looked anxiously about him a moment. He was a
hard-headed, obstinate fellow, and he ha