"I'd make a journey of two hundred miles extra if there was any way of gitting around this infernal place," said the lieutenant; "but as there isn't, all we can do is to push ahead."
It was about half an hour after the warning words of the corporal to the lad, and the eyes of the entire company were fixed upon the lieutenant and his comrade, who were riding a short distance in advance. All at once they were seen to rein up their horses simultaneously, as if something in front had caught their attention. As by a common impulse, the others did the same, and breathlessly awaited the next signal. It came in a dozen seconds. While the hunter and his mustang remained motionless, the lieutenant wheeled his horse about, and rode back and the others noticed that his face was pale and expressive of great alarm.
"I knew we shouldn't get through here without a fight. There's a whole pack of Indians ahead of us. Jake, take a turn back a short distance and see whether they have fixed it so as to shut us in."
The man addressed turned to do as ordered, while the others anxiously awaited his report. He was another Indian fighter, who knew precisely what to do, and he was gone but a short time when he came thundering back, calling out the instant he came in view around a curve in the pass:
"We're in for the biggest scrimmage of our lives! There's five hundred Apaches coming up the pass, and they'll be here inside of ten minutes."
The man who made this terrifying announcement was not one given to exaggeration, and, although he might have overestimated the number in this case, every one of his hearers knew that an overwhelming force was in their rear, and, whatever they did to save themselves, the last thing to be thought of was to turn back.
Scarcely had the news been announced when the scout from the other direction galloped back.
"Well, what is it?" asked the lieutenant.
"Some of the redskins are ahead of us, that's certain."
"What tribe?"