reparations, when the
seventy odd cavalrymen, armed to the teeth, burst forth from the hills
like a mountain torrent, and charged straight for Lone Wolf and his
band. The latter, of course, were quick to detect it, and drew up with
the purpose of making a fight; but when they took in the strength of the
company approaching, they changed their minds, and broke and scattered
like chaff before the whirlwind.

This was a severe disappointment, for the colonel and a dozen of his
best Indian fighters had arranged to make a determined effort to rid the
country of this pest. These were the best mounted in the company, and in
their eagerness they sped straight ahead after the redskins, still
hoping that some turn of fortune's wheel would give them the coveted
chance. But the mustangs of the Apaches were fresh and fleet, and they
had no purpose of meeting the United States cavalry where there was
anything like an equal advantage; so they continued their flight with
such persistent celerity that they soon vanished from view.

The heart of Colonel Chadmund misgave him as he galloped toward
Hurricane Hill and saw no sign of life there. But while he was
alternating between hope and despair, the figure of a man appeared
around the corner of the rock, and then the form of a little boy was
discerned, as he came running across the prairie with out-stretched
arms.

"Oh, father! father!"

Colonel Chadmund leaped from the back of his horse and ran to meet him.

"My darling boy! God be thanked!"

The stern old soldier wept like a child as he caught him in his arms and
hugged him to his breast, while more than one rough soldier, looking on,
dashed the tears from his eyes and tried to look as if he were thinking
of something else.

The danger was passed. Little Ned, carried in triumph to the fort,
remained the appointed time with his father at this advanced frontier
post, and when he returned to Santa Fe to his beloved mother it was with
an escort which guaranteed his safety.

Thus ended his adventures with what were then the scourges of the great
Southwest, but the memory of them is indelible and not to be subdued by
the lapse of years. In his manhood days he looks back upon those
troublous times when the wild riders left the bones of venturesome white
men to whiten upon the banks of the Gila; and, although remembrance
brings its thrill of excitement, it is coupled with a shudder whenever
Ned Chadmund thinks of his passage "Through