In a glance, Oliver saw their only chance was to run the gauntlet between the burning house and those of the Apache's rearguard, who had already stopped, ceased to pepper the hidden bandits, and looked back towards the horses in such wild agitation.
"Hep-la!" cried Oliver to the herd, applying his heavy hand to the rump of the two or three that were within reach, "And away! 'Vantay! (advance) Git!"
The horses preceded the three, but the latter's mounts participated in the fever of escape, all the more as the heat, the smell, and the flames of the Green Ranch had struck their olfactory and visual organs with that terrifying influence of fire upon the equine race.
"Let 'em rip!" cried the hunter; "They'll not shoot in the midst, lest they hurt a hoss. They're outrageous fond of horses, these 'Pach!"
As the furious cavalcade trampled by the Ranch door, the Englishman fired a hurried shot within. Immediately, the chant of the Apache, which was audible above the crackling and hissing of the flames, ceased short.
"You are a good old hoss!" ejaculated Oliver, who divined the humanity which prompted the merciful bullet, though incapable of such foolish leniency, or, at least, inexcusable waste of ammunition himself. "He desarved all he was gitting; but, na'theless, it's better you had it off your conscience. He's a green gilly," he added, under his breath, eyeing his pupil approvingly; "but for sand—you bet thar's a heap of sand, thar. If it war writing paper from hyar to his sprouting ground, jest take him up by the heel and sprinkle him out over the hull spread, and there'd be enough to cover an old bull on the last squar' foot! He's made of grit, he is that!"
On the roof of the building they had perceived the blanched faces of the two bartenders. There they lay, after having been pursued up the gap in the ceiling by the fiery tongues, afraid to move, and so attract the Apache's view.
As for Camote, he had vanished into a nook no doubt planned for some such eventuality, deep enough to require digging out.
As soon as the fugitives were surely out of range, first of the Apaches and, then, of the bandits, sufficiently engaged by the latter to bestow no more than a couple of random shots on the adventurers, they began to pull rein hard. While actually looking back, there was nothing to see but the column of flame and blue smoke from the Green Ranch. But after having resumed their course, they heard a dull boom, like a cannon report, of which the muzzle was in a cave.
"The heavy mud roof has fallen in," remarked Oliver; "the chiefs scalp is safe, and the spreeing den of the Sonora bandoleros will never house them no more."