ght well be that the ranchman
was in desperate case and in need of immediate help to save his family.
Anyhow, the decision was out of his hands.

The horses pounded forward and swept round a curve of the gulch into
sight of the ranch. In a semicircle, crouched behind the shelter of
boulders and cottonwoods, the Indian line stretched across the gorge and
along one wall. The buildings lay in a little valley, where an arroyo ran
down at a right angle and broke the rock escarpment. A spurt of smoke
came from a window of the stable as the rescuers galloped into view.

One of the Apaches caught sight of them and gave a guttural shout of
warning. His gun jumped to the shoulder and simultaneously the bullet was
on its way. But no living man could throw a shot quicker than Jim
Thursday, if the stories still told of him around camp-fires are true.
Now he did not wait to take sight, but fired from his hip. The Indian
rose, half-turned, and fell forward across the boulder, his naked body
shining in the sun. By a hundredth part of a second the white boy had
out-speeded him.

The riders flung themselves from their horses and ran for cover.

The very audacity of their attack had its effect. The Indians guessed
these two were the advance guard of a larger party which had caught them
in a trap. Between two fires, with one line of retreat cut off, the
bronco Apaches wasted no time in deliberation. They made a rush for their
horses, mounted, and flew headlong toward the arroyo, their bodies lying
low on the backs of the ponies.

The Indians rode superbly, their bare, sinewy legs gripping even to the
moccasined feet the sides of the ponies. Without saddle or bridle, except
for the simple nose rope, they guided their mounts surely, the brown
bodies rising and falling in perfect accord with the motion of the
horses.

A shot from the stable hit one as he galloped past. While his horse was
splashing through the creek the Mescalero slid slowly down, head first,
into the brawling water.

Billie took a long, steady aim and fired. A horse stumbled and went down,
flinging the rider over its head. With a "Yip--Yip!" of triumph Thursday
drew a bead on the man as he rose and dodged forward. Just as the boy
fired a sharp pain stung his foot. One of the escaping natives had
wounded him.

The dismounted man ran forward a few steps and pulled himself to the back
of a pony already carrying one rider. Something in the man's gait and
costume struck