The pursuing red-skin saw his charge quietly slipping from his grasp, and he must have viewed the wonderful speed of his favorite mustang, under the circumstances, with mixed emotions. At any rate, it took him but a short time to see that in a stern chase he had no chance of coming up with his own animal, and so he commanded him to halt. This was done by a peculiar, tremulous whooping sound, which he had used scores of times to summon his animal to him, and which had never failed. Nor did it fail now. Fred was careering along at this amazing speed, congratulating himself meanwhile upon his cleverness, when the brute checked himself so suddenly that the rider narrowly escaped being pitched over his head. He jerked the bit, and pounded his heels against his ribs, but it was of no avail. The horse had pricked up his ears, neighed, and was looking back, with very much the appearance of an animal that was in a mental muddle. The Indian saw it, and repeated the signal. Thereupon the mustang wheeled and started backward at a gallop, directly toward his master. “If that's your idea, I'm not going with you!” gasped the lad, who slipped off his back, as nimbly as a monkey, and made a dash for the side of the ravine, without any clear idea of where he was going. It seemed that there was no possible escape for the lad, for the Indian was but a short distance behind him, and was twice as fleet of foot as he; but one of those fortunate interferences which seem to be in their nature like special Providences occurred at this juncture. The flight and pursuit of Fred Munson took place at a critical period in the affairs of all parties and so mixed up the business that it was thrown entirely out of gear and almost into inextricable confusion. It seemed that there was a party of Kiowas in hiding, and awaiting the chance to open fire upon the approaching Apaches. The sly scamps saw every movement of the warriors, and it looked as if the flies were about walking into their trap when the unexpected by-play occurred. There must have been all of half a dozen Kiowas, enough to extinguish the Apaches, and when Fred Munson started in his flight, two of the Indians hurried down the ravine for the purpose of taking a hand in the business. They unavoidably fell behind in such a trial of speed, but when they saw the Apache about to reach out his hand to grasp the fugitive, two shots were fired almost simultaneously at him. They were intended to kill, too, for the Kiowas, who were actuated by no love for the despairing white boy, felt that they could afford to give him this temporary respite. They were certain of their own ability to step in and pluck the prize at the very moment it might seem to be beyond their reach. Rather curiously, however, neither of the shots did what was intended. One of them missed the Apache altogether, and the other only slightly wounded him.