ausing, he
made his way out of cover and ran rapidly along the edge of the thicket
until he had gained its northwestern extremity, where he plunged into
it, unmindful of the cuts and slashes from the interlocked thorns.
Using the rifle as a club, he hammered and pushed until he was screened
from the view of anyone passing along the trail, but where he could
see all who approached. As he turned and faced the west he saw the
horseman suddenly emerge from the shelter of the last chaparral in his
course and ride straight for the intersection of the trails, his horse
flattened to the earth by the speed it was making. Waiting until the
rider was within fifty yards of him, he pushed his way out to the trail,
the rifle leaping to his shoulder as he stepped into the open. The
newcomer was looking back at half a dozen Apaches who had burst into view
by the chaparral he had just quitted, and when he turned he was stopped
by a hail and the sight of an unwavering rifle held by the man on foot.

"A truce!" shouted The Orphan from behind the sights, having an idea and
wishing to share it.

"Hell, yes!" cried the astonished sheriff in reply, slowing down and
mechanically following the already running outlaw to the place where
the latter had spent the last few hours.

By keeping close to the edge of the chaparral, which receded from the
trail, The Orphan had not been seen by the Apaches, and as he turned into
his hiding place a yell reached his ears. His trophies on the bowlder
were not to be unmourned.

As he wormed his way into the thicket, closely followed by the sheriff,
he tersely explained the situation, and Shields, feeling somewhat under
obligation to the man who had refrained from killing him, nodded and
smiled in good nature. The sheriff thought it was a fine joke and
enthusiastically slapped his enemy on the back to show his appreciation,
for the time forgetting that they very probably would try to kill each
other later on, after the Apaches had been taken care of.

As they reached a point which gave them a clear view of the bowlder, The
Orphan kicked his companion on the shin, pointing to the Apaches grouped
around their dead.

"It's a little over three hundred, Sheriff," he said. "You shoot first and
I'll follow you, so they'll think you shot twice--there's no use letting
them think that there's two of us, that is, not yet."

"Good idea," replied the sheriff, nodding and throwing his rifle to
his shoulder. "Right en