n, following the course of the
wash below them. The band down in the arroyo's bed were receding. The
rattle of hoofs grew fainter. Schiefflin lowered the hammer of his
rifle and took his first full breath.

A low outcry down the wash stopped his breathing again. The band had
stopped their ponies; some of them were dismounting. He could see
these gathering about the place where he had led his mule up the
bank.

Two of them were pointing along the course he had taken with the
animal. Several others were creeping up the slope on their bellies
following the fresh trail. The murmur of their voices reached the
white man where he lay watching them.

Then, as he was giving up hope for the second time, a mounted
warrior--evidently he was their chief--called to the trackers. They
rose, looked about and scurried back to their ponies like frightened
quail. The whole band were hammering their heels against the flanks of
their little mounts. The coming of the night had frightened them
away.

The shadows deepened; stillness returned upon the land; the stars
grew larger in the velvet sky. Schiefflin crouched among the boulders
at the summit of the knoll and fought off sleep while the great
constellations wheeled in their long courses. The dawn would come in
its proper time, and it seemed as certain as that fact that they would
return to hunt him out.

He dared not leave the place, for he might stray into some locality
where they would find him without shelter when the day revealed his
trail. So he waited for the sunrise and the beginning of the attack.

At last the color deepened in the east. The rocks below his
hiding-place stood out more clearly. He could see no sign among them
of creeping savages. The sun rose and still nothing moved.

He came forth finally in the full blaze of the hot morning and found
the mule where he had picketed it behind the ridge. When he returned
to the dry wash he saw the tracks where the band had passed the
evening before. For some reason of their own they had found it best to
keep on that course instead of coming back to murder him.

He resumed his search for float where he had left it off. It showed
more frequently as he went on. He followed the bits of ore to a narrow
stringer of blackish rock. He dug into it with his prospector's pick,
chipped off specimens, and carefully covered up the hole. The danger
of Apaches had passed, but a new fear had come to him, the dread that
some rival prospect