to follow Jones. He slipped into the thorny brake and, flat on
his stomach, wormed his way like a snake far into the thickly
interlaced web of branches. Rude and Adams crawled after him.
Words were superfluous. Quiet, breathless, with beating hearts,
the hunters pressed close to the dry grass. A long, low, steady
rumble filled the air, and increased in volume till it became a
roar. Moments, endless moments, passed. The roar filled out like
a flood slowly released from its confines to sweep down with the
sound of doom. The ground began to tremble and quake: the light
faded; the smell of dust pervaded the thicket, then a continuous
streaming roar, deafening as persistent roll of thunder, pervaded
the hiding place. The stampeding horses had split round the
hollow. The roar lessened. Swiftly as a departing snow-squall
rushing on through the pines, the thunderous thud and tramp of
hoofs died away.

The trained horses hidden in the cottonwoods never stirred. "Lie
low! lie low!" breathed the plainsman to his companions.

Throb of hoofs again became audible, not loud and madly pounding
as those that had passed, but low, muffled, rhythmic. Jones's
sharp eye, through a peephole in the thicket, saw a cream-colored
mustang bob over the knoll, carrying an Indian. Another and
another, then a swiftly following, close-packed throng appeared.
Bright red feathers and white gleamed; weapons glinted; gaunt,
bronzed savage leaned forward on racy, slender mustangs.

The plainsman shrank closer to the ground. "Apache!" he exclaimed
to himself, and gripped his rifle. The band galloped down to the
hollow, and slowing up, piled single file over the bank. The