ing hither
and thither and nearer and nearer, growing more and more numerous every
moment. Those were the signs that Many Bears and his warriors meant to
stand between any approaching enemy and the camp of their squaws and
children. That was a quite a distance yet, but the Apaches did not
mean to let any peril come very near it.

The shout was from Murray.

"Don't shoot!"

And in a few seconds more the old man was reining in his panting
mustang among the startled and gloomy-faced miners.

"Where did you drop from?" was the cool, steady question of Skinner.

"Never you mind. Is Bill here?"

"He and his two mates are on guard at the camp. I know ye now; you're
them two mining fellers. You met Bill and--"

"Yes, I met Bill; but there's no time for talk now. You take your men
straight back to camp. It's the only show you've got left."

"Reckon we can beat off a few beggarly Apaches."

"Don't talk. Ride for your camp. If you get there before the Lipans
do, take your wagons into the pass, and stay there till they get by.
Don't strike a blow at them; they'd be too much for ye."

"Lipans? Going for our camp? Boys, 'bout face! Ride for your lives!"

For so small a man he had a great deal of voice, and his command was
instantly obeyed; but he paused long enough to ask of Steve and Murray,
"What about you two?"

"Us? We'll stay and keep the Apaches from chasing you."

"Won't they scalp you?"

"Not a bit. But there's one thing you may do. If by any chance you
have a talk with the Lipans, you may tell them just where you saw us
last. Tell the chief for me that No Tongue and Yellow Head are all
right, only their horses are tired, following your trail and the
Apaches."

"Hope I won't meet him! You're the queerest pair I ever saw. But I
wish the boys had let me foller out the word you sent in by Bill."

"Too late now. Ride out of this the best gait your horse knows."

That too was good advice, and Captain Skinner took it; while the old
man sat quietly in his saddle, with Steve Harrison at his side, as if
they two were quite enough to stem the torrent of fierce, whooping
Apaches which was now sweeping down upon them across the plain.

"Our lives are worth about as much as our title to that mine," said
Steve; and it was no shame to him that he felt his young heart beat
pretty rapidly.

"Sling your rifle behind you on the saddle; fold your arms; sit still.
I'll do the talking."

The storm of da