safe distance, but I wasn't. Lucky for me the shaft was a little
on the drift, so she didn't quite shoot my way. But she
distributed about a ton over those renegades. They sort of half
got to their feet uncertain.

"Otra vez!" yells I once more, as bold as if I could keep her
shooting all day.

It was just a cold, raw blazer; and if it didn't go through I
could see me as an Apache parlour ornament. But it did. Those
Chiricahuas give one yell and skipped. It was surely a funny
sight, after they got aboard their war ponies, to see them trying
to dig out on horses too tired to trot.

I didn't stop to get all the laughs, though. In fact, I give one
jump off that ledge, and I lit a-running. A quarter-hoss
couldn't have beat me to that shack. There I grabbed old
Meat-in-the-pot and made a climb for the tall country, aiming to
wait around until dark, and then to pull out for Benson. Johnny
Hooper wasn't expected till next day, which was lucky. From
where I lay I could see the Apaches camped out beyond my
draw, and I didn't doubt they'd visited the place. Along about
sunset they all left their camp, and went into the draw, so
there, I thinks, I sees a good chance to make a start before
dark. I dropped down from the mesa, skirted the butte, and
angled down across the country. After I'd gone a half mile from
the cliffs, I ran across Johnny Hooper's fresh trail headed
towards camp!

My heart jumped right up into my mouth at that. Here was poor old