Presently the sound varied, yet to such a slight degree that a listener might not have noted it. Tip, the pony, however, did seem to notice it, and at each call would lift his head impatiently and look in the direction of the tree. Finally, as if by a familiar impulse, he tossed his head in air, and walked slowly toward the well-known call.
All the while Tom had kept his face in such a direction that the Indian could not have left his ambush without being discovered. The pony was now within twenty paces of the tree. By way of distracting the Indian’s attention, the boy waved his hat and shouted to an imaginary comrade.
Then, fifteen feet from the ground, first throwing a quick glance at his steed, Tom allowed himself to drop. As he did so the dreaded war-whoop rang out from the distant clump. To his horror, an answering call came from just ahead of him. Once on the ground, he darted toward the horse. A cactus plant, which on ordinary occasions he would have given a wide berth, brushed sharply against him, yet, in his excitement, he hardly felt the pain it caused.
In the next instant he had swung into the saddle and wheeled the pony’s head toward the camp. The first glance ahead, however, revealed the supple body of an Indian half concealed by a cactus bush. There was no choice. Striking his spurs into the pony, Tom dashed forward. The Indian suddenly dropped his rifle and crouched beside a Giant Cactus. As Tom and the mustang flew past he made a panther-like leap, and throwing his arms about the boy, tried to drag him from the saddle. Turning upon him, Tom seized the lithe arms and with all his strength tried to throw the enemy from him. But the grip of the savage was like that of a wild animal, and the boy’s most vigorous efforts failed to break it.
While the Indian and boy were thus struggling, the mustang had made good some one hundred yards, in spite of the double burden. Though greatly excited, Tom thought of the six-shooter at his belt, but before he could reach it a quick movement of the savage pinned his arms to his side. The boy then worked his hand under the wiry arm which held a strangling grip on his neck. As he did so, his eyes met a sight that changed his purpose. He thought a moment of the savage clinging to him. Then, with all his strength, he wrapped his arms around the Indian and imprisoned him. The Indian was confused by the change of action, and, like a wild animal, fought to release himself, for by this time he, too, saw Sergeant Mills and three other approaching horsemen.
A party of soldiers, wondering at the boy’s delay, had ridden out from the camp, and they were not a little surprised to see Tom galloping toward them, carrying what to them was a very odd looking burden. When, upon nearer approach, this object developed into a full-grown Apache Indian, their astonishment knew no bounds, and they hastened forward, lest the prisoner, in his fierce struggles, should escape them.
Ten minutes later, the Indian, bound hand and foot, was brought before the captain, and at the same time Tom handed over the all-important dispatches. As he did so, the boy’s spirits reacted from their strained condition and his sense of humor asserted itself.
“Well, captain,” he said, “I knew that you didn’t want me to be out alone, so I brought this Indian along, just to keep me company.”