THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS. CONTINUED.


When Mickey found himself under the shelter of the trees, something like
his old confidence returned.

"As I obsarved some minutes ago, it's mesilf that's not going to stand any
fooling," he added, loud enough for the redskins to hear. "Whither ye're
there or not, ye ought to spake, and come out and smoke the calomel of
peace, and give a spalpeen a chance to crack your head, as though ye're
his brother; but if ye're up to any of your thricks, make ready to go to
your hunting-grounds."

By this time he was within a dozen feet of the spot whence came the
rustling that so disturbed him, and was staring with all his eyes in quest
of the redskins. In spite of the bright moonlight, the Irishman could not
be certain of anything he saw. There were trees of large size, behind any
of which an Indian might have shielded himself effectually, and it was
useless for Mickey to look unless his man chose to show himself.

The Irishman had all the natural recklessness of his race, but he had been
in the Apache country long enough to learn to tone it down, for that was
the country where the most fatal attribute a man could have was
recklessness or rashness. In many instances of conflict with Indians it is
worse than cowardice.

But, in the face of Mickey's assurance to the contrary, he did not feel
altogether easy about the Apaches he had left at the cave. His humanity
had prevented him from depriving them of means of escape, and although he
was inclined to believe that they were not likely to climb the lasso until