So they did; and when the sun sank down in the west, not a particle of
food nor a drop of water remained to them.

"Now, Ned, my boy," said Dick, who always maintained a certain
cheerfulness, no matter what the circumstances might be, "go to the
lookout and tell me what you see."

The lad was absent some ten minutes, during which he carefully scanned
every part of the horizon and took a peep down upon their besiegers.

"I find no sign of a living soul," he said, when he returned, "except
the Apaches, and they're waiting until they can get us without
fighting."

"Stay here while I take a peep."

Long and carefully Dick Morris gazed off to the west, in the direction
of the mountains, and then something like a sigh escaped him, as he
shook his head and muttered:

"It looks bad, it looks bad. If Tom succeeded, he ought to be in sight
by this time. I see nothing of 'em, and from the way the redskins act
down there, they seem to be sartin he's gone under. I don't mind for
myself, for I'm ready to go any time; but I feel powerful sorry for the
little fellow down there."

CHAPTER XXXIX.

CONCLUSION.

Long and hard rode Tom Hardynge after his escape from the beleaguring
Apaches, for he was determined to save Ned and Dick if the thing were
within the range of human possibility. His mustang seemed to understand
what was expected of him, and he required no urging from his master to
maintain his arrowy flight. It was a literal race between life and
death. If he could reach Fort Havens in time to procure succor, the man
and the boy were saved. If not, then they were doomed.

At daylight he was among the mountains, and the steed paused a few
seconds to swallow a little water from a tiny stream. An hour later he
ascended an elevation, and from his back the rider took a survey of the
plain stretched out before him.

Far away in the distance a dark, stationary object was discerned. A keen
eye could detect something fluttering above it in the wind. That was the
star-spangled banner, waving above Fort Havens. Yonder was the
destination toward which the little party had been laboring for days and
which there was no assurance of still reaching. The scout had not yet
passed half the distance intervening between the fort and Hurricane
Hill. Mercy to his beast compelled him to give him a brief rest and an
opportunity to eat a little food. Then, away again.

It was the middle of the afternoon, and Tom was nearing the fort