“But none the less enjoyable for all that. How is it you haven’t your Winchester with you?”
“Didn’t I tell you last night that I meant to leave it with Molly, so that she shall be able to defend herself, during my absence?”
“Defend herself against what?”
“Nothing; adios, my old friend.”
Freeman looked back as he made his military salute, which was cordially answered by Murray. That parting will be remembered by Freeman as long as he lives.
“He is right,” reflected the ranchman, as he struck the trail leading northward to the military post which was his destination; “months have passed since there has been a rumor of trouble with the hostiles, and every week lessens the danger which has hung over our homes like a pall of death.”
In a comparative sense the early part of the day was pleasant. The frightful heat would be felt in all its intensity, as the sun climbed to meridian and descended the western sky; and, since there was abundant time in which to let his horse rest, Freeman spurred him to an easy gallop, which was continued without break for mile after mile.
Two-thirds of the way was passed, when, in riding up a slight elevation, the ranchman came face to face with five Apaches, all of whom were well mounted and armed. They were strangers, but the white man knew they had been with the hostiles in the recent troubles.
“It might be a handy thing if I had my rifle with me just now,” he thought; “and yet this may be one of the occasions when a man without weapons is safer than a walking arsenal, for he isn’t tempted to do anything rash.”
A viciously inclined Indian is quick to seize his opportunity. These five Apaches, if they chose, could shoot the white man from his horse in a twinkling, and the chances were that justice would never overtake them, for no torture could force any member of the party to betray the other.