steadily lowering their comrade with as much coolness and deliberation as
if not the slightest particle of danger threatened. Minute after minute
passed, and the lad was in deep despair. It could not be, he was compelled
to think, that Mickey O'Rooney was anywhere in the vicinity. He must be a
long distance away, searching for his young friend, not knowing, and,
perhaps, not caring about the Apaches. He might consider that, within the
darkness of the cave, they all had an equal advantage, and he could hold
his own against each and every one. There was no denying that the defender
had a vast advantage over those who might come into his "castle," provided
he was really aware of their movements, but it was this doubt that caused
the boy his uneasiness.

"He must be near the bottom," he concluded, when this paying-out process
had continued some minutes longer, and he thought he saw very little of
the lasso left.

Such was the fact. Only a few seconds more passed, when there was a
general loosening up on the part of the redskins, as in the case of men
who have just finished a laborious job. They looked into each others
faces, and there were guttural exclamations, as if they were
congratulating themselves upon what had been accomplished.

"And, now, what next?" asked the disgusted watcher. "Good luck seems to go
with everything they undertake, and I suppose they'll bring Mickey up by
the heels."

But such was not the sequel, and probably not the expectation of the
Apaches. They had succeeded in planting a man in the breach, and their
purpose was to follow him, as they speedily proved. The behavior of the
group around the opening showed that the Indians were holding