Another half hour and he looked back again. Only one man was in sight, and he was not more than a hundred feet away.
Quick as a flash Ulna came to a halt, wheeled and fired. The Apache threw up his arms and fell senseless at the feet of the young Ute.
Here Ulna's training in the missionary school at Taos came into play.
His natural impulse would have led him to make sure work, and tear the black scalp from the head of his foe, but his heart was touched with pity rather than hate, and now that his pursuer was harmless he might help him, if he was not fatally wounded.
He examined the Apache's wound, and found that the bullet had struck his head without breaking his skull.
"He will come to himself after a while," said Ulna, as he drew his foe to the shadow of a rock and placed his back against it.
But while prompted to this act of humanity, Ulna did not permit his heart to interfere with his head. According to all the rules of civilized warfare, the arms of an enemy belong to his conqueror, so he took the Apache's pistol and ammunition-belt, which also contained his long, keen scalping-knife.
These he fastened on his own person, and had scarcely finished when the wounded brave opened his eyes and looked about him in a dazed way. As soon as he saw Ulna he closed his eyes again and began to chant in a low solemn voice the death-song of his tribe.
He was in the power of his foe, and as he could not give mercy himself, for he did not know of such a thing, he expected that the Ute would put him to death, and his song told that he was ready to meet it without fear.
"Listen to me," said Ulna, laying his hand on the Apache's shoulder and speaking in a firm but kindly tone. "I am a Ute, but the whites have taught me to hate no man because of his tribe. Your life is your own; take it and make your way back to your friends who have lagged in the race, and tell them that the nephew of Uray does not hate nor kill the helpless."