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Updated: June 4, 2025
Tim O'Rooney, with an ejaculated prayer, caught up his rifle, and turning his back toward the fire, stood like a person driven at bay and waiting to decide in his mind the best way to strike his last blow. In his haste and alarm his pipe fell from his mouth and lay unheeded at his feet. Shasta quietly picked it up, handed it to him, and motioned for him to seat himself upon the ground again.
"There is plenty of wood over yonder," he said to himself, looking in the direction taken by Mickey O'Rooney; "and where there is so much growing there must be some upon the ground. I'll go over and gather some, and have the fire all ready when he comes back."
If nestling in the branches of a tree, or hid away among the rocks, was he asleep? Or if awake, of what was he thinking? Did he believe that Howard was searching for him? Or did he imagine him also lost? It would not be reasonable to suppose that he had any suspicion of his finding Tim O'Rooney.
It was at this juncture that the Apache, who had run against the fist of Mickey O'Rooney, recovered, and seeing his foe in the act of vanishing, gave a whoop of alarm to his companions, caught up his rifle and fired away. The hasty aim alone prevented a fatal result, the bullet clipping the clothing of the Irishman.
It will be remembered that Howard Lawrence waited until he saw the Indians hurry away for shelter, when he returned to Tim O'Rooney and the two effected a safe retreat from the dangerous locality. They saw nothing more of the savages, and their conjecture that Elwood was a prisoner among them was merely a conjecture, although absolutely correct.
Mickey O'Rooney was particularly busy just then with his culinary operations, and he stared at the lad with an expression of comical amazement that made the young fellow laugh. "Begorrah, why don't ye talk sinse?" added Mickey, impatiently. "I've heard Soot Simpson say that if ye only put your shot in the right spot, ye don't want but one of 'em to trip the biggest grizzly that ever navigated.
The Irishman meant nothing especial in his reply, but there was a deep significance about it which sent a shudder through his hearer from head to foot. Yes, the stranger was buried, and in the same grave with him were Mickey O'Rooney and Fred Munson. The speaker saw the effect his words had produced, and attempted to remove their sting.
"Yes, if you keep only your head above water and bear very lightly upon it. Don't attempt to rise up." "All right!" The buoyant raft came to the surface, and was instantly grasped firmly but carefully by all. Poor Tim O'Rooney had come very near drowning.
The Irishman gazed long and carefully over the face of the rock, and finally said: "They've seen something this way that has tuk their eye." "They are moving, too." "Maybe they've seen the dog, and are coming to look for us." "Heaven save us!" exclaimed Tim, in some excitement, "there's no maybe about it; they're coming, sure!" It was not the first time that Tim O'Rooney made a mistake.
"I'll show ye, me laddy; I'm going there as sure as me name's Mickey O'Rooney, and me." "Yer ain't going to try any such thing; if yer do, I'll bore yer." But the Irishman had already given the word to his horse. The latter bounded forward, passing by the dumbfounded hunter, who raised his rifle, angered enough to tumble the reckless fellow from the saddle.
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