bare, and ornamented in the same fashion, a knife at his girdle, and a
long, formidable rifle in his hand--such were the noticeable
characteristics, to a superficial observer, of Lone Wolf, the Apache
chief--for the Indian confronting Fred Munson was really he, and no
one else.

The lad suspected the identity of the red-skin, although, having never
seen him, it amounted only to a suspicion. No matter who he was,
however, he was prepared for him.

The Apache showed his usual cunning. He was evidently attempting to
steal upon the sentinels, and, having risen to his feet, he remained
motionless and upright, listening for any sign that might betray any
motion of the individuals whom he was seeking to slay, as does the
assassin at night.

"He must have been after _me_, for he is right behind where I stood,"
thought the boy, as he grasped his rifle more firmly than ever,
resolved to fire upon the wretch the moment he attempted to advance.

Lone Wolf stood but a minute in the position described, when,
seemingly, he was satisfied that the way was clear, and, throwing one
moccasin on the trunk, he climbed over as silently as a shadow, and
stood again holt upright upon the other side. This brought the Indian
and boy within ten feet of each other, and still the advantage was all
upon the side of the latter, who stood in such deep shadow that he was
not only invisible, but his presence was unsuspected.

The Indian was not gazing in the direction of the lad, but seemed to
turn his attention more to the left, toward the spot where Mickey