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.
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