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This would be likely to bring them very close to where he was hidden, and he trembled as he reflected upon the possible, if not probable, result. The sun was going down in the west; the shadows in the wood gradually deepened; in his reclining position, Ned Chadmund found a heavy drowsiness stealing over him.
Young Chadmund heard the unmistakable warning of a rattlesnake that was somewhere near him, and on the very point of striking. Precisely where it was, it was impossible to determine with any certainty; but there was no time to consider the matter.
He turned the head of his mustang in that direction and rode at the same tearing speed as before. The cavalry detected his coming, reined up and awaited his approach. The afternoon was well advanced when the hunter drew rein in front of the company, and saluted the chief officer, who was Colonel Chadmund himself, the commandant of Fort Havens, at the head of seventy-five veteran cavalry.
The clouds sweeping across the sky grew heavier and darker, and the wind, strong and chilling, soughed through the trees of the forest with a dismal, wailing sound that would have frightened one of more years than young Chadmund.
There was a sea, a living sea, spreading tumultuously over the plain. Dark, heaving masses were constantly verging nearer, as they moved rapidly toward the northeast. Suddenly light broke in upon the mind of Ned Chadmund. "I know what it is!" he exclaimed. "They are buffaloes." "Correct," assented Tom, with a laugh. "They are passing pretty close, but we're out of their way."
Neither of them spoke a word, nor was a muscle relaxed. The scout knew that the instant the struggle was detected by those below, there would be a rush up the incline such as Ned Chadmund with his loaded and cocked revolver could not withstand. The fighting, therefore, was of the hurricane order from the beginning to the close.
Sleep has the power of stealing over the faculties, and wrapping them up in its embrace so insidiously, that no watchfulness can guard against it unless artificial means, such as walking, are resorted to. When Ned Chadmund resumed an easy position in front of his own camp fire, the inevitable result followed. He resolved to keep his ears and eyes open, and almost immediately closed them.
Then followed the softest possible hiss, such as is made by the disturbed serpent, and, at that moment, the truth of the whole matter suddenly broke upon Ned Chadmund. The strange Indians were quietly preparing their supper, unaware of the fact that, while they were thus employed, a party of Apaches, their deadly enemies, were closing in upon them.
"Yes, sir, we've been on the hunt for some days." "How is that?" Dick Morris briefly explained how Colonel Chadmund had received warning through a friendly Indian runner of the projected massacre of the cavalry escort.
Then he rose to his feet, and, looking up in the painted face, replied: "I am all alone, and long to go to my father." "What is the name of your father?" asked the chief, in the same excellent English. "Colonel Edward Chadmund." "Is he at the fort, yonder?" continued Lone Wolf, stretching out his hand so as to point toward the southwest.
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