seemed impossible; but the ponies tore on, and Bart began in his
excitement to wonder what would be done if one should stumble and fall.
Would the others stop and defend him, or would they gallop away to save
their own lives? Then he asked himself what he would do if the Beaver
were to go down, and he hoped that he would be brave enough to try and
save so good a man.

Just then a rifle-shot rang out in their front. It was fired by the
scout they were racing to join.

It was a long shot, but effective, for an Apache pony fell headlong
down, and a couple more went over it, causing a slight diversion in
their favour--so much, trifling as it was, that the Beaver and his party
gained a few yards, and instead of galloping right down upon them, the
Apaches began to edge off a little in the same direction as that in
which the fugitives were rushing.

And still they tore on, while at last the Apaches edged off more and
more, till they were racing on about a hundred yards to their left,
afraid to close in lest their prey should get too far ahead; and they
were all tearing on in this fashion when the last scout was reached,
already in motion to retreat now and lose no time, setting spurs to his
pony as the Beaver passed, and then came the final gallop to the gateway
for life or death.

For now came the question--would the firing of their friends check the
Apaches, or would they press on in deadly strife to the bitter end?

"Ride close up to the rock below Joses," shouted the Beaver; "then jump
off on the right side of your horse, turn and fire;" and with these
words, spoken in broken English, ringing in his ears, Bart felt his
spirits rise, and uttering a cheer full of excitement, he rose in his
stirrups and galloped on.

The endurance of the little horses was wonderful, but all the same the
peril was of a terrible nature; for the ground which they were forced to
take close in under the perpendicular mountain walls was strewn with
blocks of stone, some of a large size, that had to be skirted, while
those of a smaller size were leaped by the hardy little animals, and
Bart felt that the slightest swerve or a fall meant death of the most
horrible kind.

Twice over his cob hesitated at a monstrous piece of rock. And each
time Bart nearly lost his seat; but he recovered it and raced on.

Faster and faster they swept along, the Indian followers of the Beaver
urging their horses on by voice and action, while the yells of the