lease."

There was a wonderful deal of comfort in that for men who had been
"running away" so long as they had, and over so very rough a country.
Their hard, rude, weather-beaten faces began to put on an expression of
peace and quiet, and even of good-nature, and they gave their weary
horses a longer rest than they had at first intended. After that,
however, the sharp, stern summons of Captain Skinner called them to
"mount and ride" once more, and they were all ready to obey. It was a
wild region through which they were going, but at more than one place
they passed the ruins of old houses and other traces of former attempts
at settlement and cultivation.

"There were good ranches hereaway in the old times," said Captain
Skinner, "and there was some mining done, but it was too near the
Apache range, and there were too many revolutions. It won't be settled
up till there's a new state of things. The Apaches'll take care of
that."

All their troubles, they thought, were behind them, and they cared very
little for those of the country they had gotten into--less than they
might have done if they had imagined how nearly those very troubles
might yet concern themselves.

It was impossible, however, not to think and talk about the Apaches,
and to "wonder how the Lipans came out of their attack on that village."

Captain Skinner's comment was, "I don't reckon a great many of 'em came
out at all. The chances were against them. Old Two Knives made a
mistake for once, and I shouldn't wonder if he'd had to pay for it."

Well, so he had, but not so heavily as the Captain imagined.

At that very moment he was leading through the homeward pass just about
half of his original war-party--all that "had come out of the attack on
that village."

The village itself was in a high state of fermentation that morning.
There was mourning in some of the lodges over braves who had fallen in
that brief, sharp battle with the Lipans, but there were only five of
these in all, so great had been the advantage of superior numbers in
the fight, and of holding the ground of it afterward.

The bitterest disgrace of To-la-go-to-de and his warriors had been
their failure to carry off the bodies of their friends who had fallen.
At least twenty of the Apaches had been more or less wounded, and every
man of them was as proud of it as if he had been "promoted." A scar
received in battle is a badge of honor to an Indian warrior, and he is
apt to m