Wallace's and the Cross-O-Cross.

Some time after the two punchers had quitted the scene of their trap,
several Apaches loped up, read the story of the tragedy at a glance, and
galloped on in pursuit. They had left the reservation a fortnight before
under the able leadership of that veteran of many war-trails--Black
Bear. Their leader, chafing at inaction and sick of the monotony of
reservation life, had yielded to the entreaties of a score of restless
young men and slipped away at their head, eager for the joys of raiding
and plundering. But instead of stealing horses and murdering isolated
whites as they had expected, they met with heavy repulses and were
now without the mind of their leader. They had fled from one defeat to
another and twice had barely eluded the cavalry which pursued them. Now
two more of their dwindling force were dead and another had been found
but an hour before. Rage and ferocity seethed in each savage heart and
they determined to get the puncher they had chased, and that other whose
trail they now saw for the first time. They would place at least one
victory against the string of their defeats, and at any cost. Whips rose
and fell and the war-party shot forward in a compact group, two scouts
thrown ahead to feel the way.

Red and Hopalong rode on rejoicing, for there were three less Apaches
loose in the Southwest for the inhabitants to swear about and fear, and
there was an excellent chance of more to follow. The Southwest had
no toleration for the Government's policy of dealing with Indians and
derived a great amount of satisfaction every time an Apache was killed.
It still clung to the time-honored belief that the only good Indian
was a dead one. Mr. Cassidy voiced his elation and then rubbed an
empty stomach in vain regret,--when a bullet shrilled past his head,
so unexpectedly as to cause him to duck instinctively and then glance
apologetically at his red-haired friend; and both spurred their mounts
to greater speed. Next Mr. Connors grabbed frantically at his perforated
sombrero and grew petulant and loquacious.

"Both them shots was lucky, Hoppy; the feller that fired at me did it
on the dead run; but that won't help us none if one of 'em connects
with us. You gimme that Sharps--got to show 'em that they're taking big
chances crowding us this way." He took the heavy rifle and turned in the
saddle. "It's an even thousand, if it's a yard. He don't look very big,
can't hardly tell him from