of combat and murder littered the earth, and in the air hung an
odor that Cumnor knew, though he had never smelled it before. Morsels of
dropped booty up among the rocks showed where the Indians had gone, and
one horse remained, groaning, with an accidental arrow in his belly.

"We'll just kill him," said Jones; and his pistol snapped idly, and
snapped again, as his eye caught a motion--a something--two hundred
yards up among the bowlders on the hill. He whirled round. The enemy was
behind them also. There was no retreat. "Yourn's no good!" yelled Jones,
fiercely, for Cumnor was getting out his little, foolish revolver. "Oh,
what a trick to play on a man! Drop off yer horse, kid; drop, and do
like me. Shootin's no good here, even if I was loaded. _They_ shot, and
look at them now. God bless them ice-cream freezers of yourn, kid! Did
y'u ever see a crazy man? If you 'ain't, _make it up as y'u go along_!"

More objects moved up among the bowlders. Specimen Jones ripped off
the burro's pack, and the milk-cans rolled on the ground. The burro
began grazing quietly, with now and then a step towards new patches of
grass. The horses stood where their riders had left them, their reins
over their heads, hanging and dragging. From two hundred yards on the
hill the ambushed Apaches showed, their dark, scattered figures
appearing cautiously one by one, watching with suspicion. Specimen
Jones seized up one milk-can, and Cumnor obediently did the same.

[Illustration: THE MEXICAN FREIGHT-WAGON]

"You kin dance, kid, and I kin sing, and we'll go to it," said Jones. He
rambled in a wavering loop, and diving eccentrically at Cumnor, clashed
the milk-cans together. "'Es schallt ein Ruf wie Donnerhall,'" he
bawled, beginning the song of "Die Wacht am Rhein." "Why don't you
dance?" he shouted, sternly. The boy saw the terrible earnestness of his
face, and, clashing his milk-cans in turn, he shuffled a sort of jig.
The two went over the sand in loops, toe and heel; the donkey continued
his quiet grazing, and the flames rose hot and yellow from the
freight-wagon. And all the while the stately German hymn pealed among
the rocks, and the Apaches crept down nearer the bowing, scraping men.
The sun shone bright, and their bodies poured with sweat. Jones flung
off his shirt; his damp, matted hair was half in ridges and half glued
to his forehead, and the delicate gold chain swung and struck his broad,
naked breast. The Apaches drew nearer again