The battle slowly traveled. It was getting directly opposite, as the Apaches gradually gave ground and the Spanish took ground. Scarcely anybody appeared to have been hurt yet; there were no dead on the sand and all the wounded stayed in their saddles. The column in the distance was making a larger dust, as if hastening to the rescue. The Apaches no doubt knew this. Now on a sudden the noise quieted. The Apache chief had cantered forward from among his men, shaking his lance. He was a very heavy man, with a very long lance; upon his arm was a red shield. He rode a fine spotted horse. “The chiefs will fight, maybe,” quoth Letalesha. “That is the way to settle it.” The Apache chief spoke in a loud voice, holding his lance high; but the Spanish chief on the white horse waved him back and evidently said no. “The Spanish chief is a coward,” Skidi asserted. “He has a small heart.” “Why should he risk losing his scalp, when he is winning and he has enough men coming to burn the Apaches like dry grass?” argued the wise Old Knife. The Apache chief sat a moment, waiting; then he turned back for his own party. From the Spanish a great shout arose, that made him again turn, quickly. “Ai-ee! It will be a fight, man to man, after all!” Iskatappe exclaimed. A Spanish soldier had dashed past his chief, and was galloping into the clear, flourishing his sword. It was a challenge. The chief sped to meet him. They both crouched behind their round shields. A moment――and they came together. The Spanish horseman thrust his shield forward, to throw aside the chief’s lance point. But he did not catch it full. He only threw it higher, so that it glanced on and struck him in the throat――went straight through. He fell off, backward. Jerking the lance out, the Apache chief scoured by, in a half circle, with a whoop of victory. “Hi, yi!” Old Knife grunted. “There is blood and a scalp.” What a yell broke from the Apaches and the Spaniards both――a yell of triumph from the one, a yell of vengeance from the others! The Spanish charged, firing their guns, to save the scalp, and to kill. The Apaches scattered; their chief galloped hither-thither, urging them to stand, but they had no stomachs for more fighting at close quarters and the rest of the Spanish were spurring in. Presently all the Apaches, the footmen on horse again, tore away, making down the river. Without trying to pursue them the whole Spanish army gathered on the battlefield. They were too heavily clothed to overtake Indians. “They are as many as a herd of buffalo,” said Letalesha. “They are a large war party. Where are they going and what do they want?” “We shall find out from them at sundown,” Rich Man answered. “We will let them camp, first. They are blood hungry now, and very mad.” “It will be no trouble for us to get horses,” laughed Wolf. “Even a boy like Scar Head could steal some.” “Will you let me try?” Scar Head asked, hopefully.