CHAPTER XII

During one part of the journey Steve Harrison and Murray had found the
ledge along the mountain side pretty rough travelling, but their horses
were used to picking their way along bad roads, and after a while they
succeeded in getting out on to the comparatively smooth slope of the
pine-forest.

"Our only risk now is that we may meet some of their hunters up here
after game. We'll push right on."

"I'll fight if it can't be helped, Murray, but I'd a good deal rather
not meet anybody."

"Well, so had I. Our business, just now, is scouting, not killing."

"I'll scout all day," said Steve.

"We must find a hiding-place for the horses, and creep down into the
valley on foot. I'll show you some new tricks to-day."

The trees were large and the forest open, and no proper place was found
for the concealment of such large animals, until they made their way at
last to the very edge of the pass, at the point where it left the
rugged cliffs of the "gap" and entered the more gentle slope of the
forest.

"This'll do, Steve. I could hide a company in here; and no one squad
need know where the next one was lying."

That was true enough, but it was of more importance to them that day
than any one would have expected.

They tethered their horses between two rocks, where the thickly woven
vines overhead made almost a dark stable for them.

"Now, Steve, a good look up and down, and we're off."

Between them and what could be called "the road" were many yards of
tangled growth, and before they had gotten through it Steve felt his
arm gripped hard.

"Listen! Horses coming! Lie still."

A minute more and they were both willing to lie as still as mice, for
that was the very cover chosen by Bill and his two comrades in which to
wait for their intended prisoners.

They and their horses were hardly twenty feet from Steve and Murray,
and every loud word they said was distinctly heard.

Moreover, Murray and his young friend were on higher ground, and they,
too, could look down the pass, and see who was coming.

"Two young squaws," whispered Murray. "The foolish young things are
coming right into the trap."

"Can't we help 'em?"

"They're Apache squaws, Steve."

"I don't care. I'm white!"

"So am I. Tell you what, Steve--Ha! I declare!"

"What's the matter, Murray?"

"One of 'em's white! Sure's you live. They sha'n't touch a hair of
their heads!"

"White or red?" whispered Steve, and he was