But if this discovery was alarming, it was not to be compared to that which followed within the next fifteen minutes.
The settler had crossed another of those narrow gorges that were continually interposing, and was guardedly picking his way up the opposite side when, without the first warning, he observed an Apache warrior less than fifty feet distant.
He was seated on the ground, with his back against a dwarfed pine, his position such that his side was turned toward the white man, whom he did not see. This was the more remarkable, since, with all the care the latter might use, he could not avoid a slight noise in his movements which ought to have reached the ears of an enemy at double the distance.
Hardly repressing a gasp of amazement, Freeman brought his Winchester to his shoulder, and covered the warrior in the twinkling of an eye. No matter how catlike the fellow might be in his actions, he was now at a fatal disadvantage; the white man had the drop on him.
Freeman, however, did not pull trigger. He feared the consequences when the report should ring through the solitude, for of necessity it must reach the ears of others near at hand.
Still the Apache did not stir, even though the settler purposely made a noise with one of his feet.
“He is either asleep or is sunk in a deeper reverie than I ever knew an Indian to be.”
Neither of these suppositions was satisfactory. Freeman now coughed quite loudly, but with no more effect upon the warrior than before. Then the settler lowered his rifle, for he knew the truth.
Glancing around to make sure that no one was in sight, Freeman walked forward, holding his gun ready for instant use. The Apache’s head was bowed on his breast as if asleep, but his continued quiescence could be accounted for only in one way; he was dead.