n there is no use in fighting any more. They can do it as readily as
any white man in the world, and the reason why they do not do it more
frequently is because they generally keep a good chance to run away, and
make a treaty afterwards as to what presents they are to have for making
peace. There was no time given the young braves to strike a bargain.
They were all disarmed, and then, dreadfully to their disgust, they were
all dismounted and tied up.

"The plunder'll do well enough where it is," said Captain Grover, as he
detailed Garry and a guard of four men to watch the prisoners. "If any
of those chaps gets loose you'll have to shoot him. Men, by fours, left!
Forward!"

The pony-rider who escaped was sure to carry the news of the disaster,
and of the arrival of the blue-coats, but several things could happen
before the Apache chief received it. He had no spy-glass, and he was
eagerly waiting such information as might be obtained by the brave
standing face to face with Yellow Pine.

That very cunning Apache found himself talking under difficulties. He
could see distinctly that there were more than a few rifles at the
barrier, but he could get no farther. The tall pale-face in front of him
kept back any other information than that all the Apaches in this world
or any other would be killed in case of an attack then and there. He
even referred to Sile's exploit as an example, and to the lesson given
by Two Arrows to the scout, and all the wild blood in the Apache brave
was set boiling by that somewhat imprudent reference. He was a large,
powerfully built warrior, and he had been as truthful as could be
expected when he signified that he was unarmed. He kept up the idea of a
"flag of truce" talk until sure he could gain no more by it, and then he
uttered a shrill whoop and stooped, quick as a flash, for a long knife
hidden in his leggings. He meant to carry back the scalp of Yellow Pine
as a trophy of that conversation, but had not asked anybody how well
Pine could box. The latter had no time to draw any weapon except his
fist, but that was a hard one, and it struck the Apache on the side of
his head as he was rising, knife in hand. Over and over he rolled, while
Pine threw himself flat upon the earth, at the same moment digging both
hands into the pockets of his pantaloons. His enemy recovered himself
instantly and sprang to his feet with another whoop, lifting his long,
glittering knife for a rush upon the prostrate