Nothing of their horses could be seen, although he knew they must have a
number of them somewhere in the neighborhood. An Apache or Comanche
without his mustang would be like a soldier in battle without weapons.

"I'd like to find them," thought Fred, lowering his head, and looking back
of him. "I'd take one and start all the others away, and then there would
be fun."

The lad had it in his power to take an important step toward his return to
his friends. Nothing was more likely than that a little search through the
immediate neighborhood would discover the mustangs of his enemies, which,
as a matter of course, were unguarded, the owners anticipating no trouble
from any such source. Mounted upon the fleetest of prairie rangers, it
would not require long to reach the open country, when he could speed away
homeward.

But to do this required the abandonment of his friend, Mickey O'Rooney,
who would not have been within the cavern at that minute but for his
efforts to rescue him from the same prison. It was hard to tell in what
way the lad expected to benefit him by staying, and yet nothing would have
persuaded him to do otherwise.

"I may get a chance to do something for him, and if I should be gone and
never see him again, I should blame myself forever. So I'll wait here and
watch."

The three redskins on the edge of the opening remained occupied with
something, but the curiosity of the lad continued unsatisfied until one of
them raised up and moved backward several steps. Then Fred saw that he had