d one of the miners.

"Of course it will. We'll try to move east from here, or south, when
we leave it."

"Shall any of the boys go for game? Must be plenty of it all around."

"Game? Oh yes; plenty of it, after a hundred Apache hunters have been
riding it down for nobody knows how long! The redskins leave heaps of
game behind 'em, always."

The bitter sarcasm of the Captain's answer prevented any farther
remarks on the subject of hunting that afternoon. They had plenty of
fresh meat with them, nevertheless, and there was no reason why they
should not cook and eat.

There was a reason why they could not at once be altogether pleased
with their camping-ground. It was because they found the ashes of one
fire still hot enough to kindle with.

"The Apaches haven't been out of this a great while," said Captain
Skinner; "but the trail of their lodge-poles when they went shows that
they set off to the west'ard. That isn't our direction. I don't care
how far they go nor how fast."

When he came to talk with the other miners he found that they hardly
felt as he did about it; neither did they like the looks of the
mountain range through which the Apaches had come.

"Danger behind us or not," said one of the men. "I move we spend a day
or so in huntin', and findin' out jest what's best to be done, before
we light out of this. We must be getting pretty close to the Mexican
line."

They were even closer than he had any idea of; but, when their evening
conference ended, Captain Skinner was outvoted, and a "hunt and scout"
was agreed upon for the next day.

CHAPTER XV

Ni-ha-be and Rita had escaped any scolding from Many Bears; but when
the story of their morning's adventure was related to Mother Dolores
that plump and dignified person felt bound to make up for the chief's
neglect. She scolded them in the longest and hardest words of the
Apache language; and when she could not think of anything new to add
she begun again, and said it all over in Mexican Spanish. By that time
she was out of breath, and Ni-ha-be exclaimed,

"I don't care, Mother Dolores--I hit one of them in the arm with an
arrow. It went right through. Rita missed; but she isn't an Apache."

"Two young squaws!" said Dolores, scornfully. "Where would you have
been now, and Red Wolf too, if it wasn't for that old pale-face and his
boy?"

"He wasn't his boy," said Rita. "He didn't look like him a bit."

"Didn't he? And what are a