At the first peep of dawn they located Blue with their glasses, standing stiffly at the foot of a hill; but as the sun rose and touched him Blue woke from his trance-like sleep and moved up towards a point. There following his horse nature he intended to stand, basking in the sun until the chill was out of his limbs; after which he would fall to feeding, enjoying his freedom to the full before his new master should trail him from the plain. But already there was a man not a hundred yards away waiting patiently with his rifle in his hands; and as Blue raised his head and looked back towards the Rock House, Winchester saw a lone man riding out. It was Red, riding bareback on a horse he had picked up, following rapidly along the broad trail; and as he spied his missing mount he cut straight across the valley, coming up the grassy swale on the lope. Winchester crouched behind a bush and breathed on his hands--his hour of vengeance had come. Red rode up towards his horse, unconscious of any danger until a man rose just below him, a man with a rifle in his hands. "Surrender," he said, "in the name of the law!" But Red sat staring, open-mouthed. Then he whirled his horse and Winchester shot him twice, leaving him dead where he pitched to the ground. "Here's your horse," he said, as he rode back to camp, and Hall took the trembling Blue in silence. "Good enough!" pronounced Meshackatee, and they started off north, for the Scarboroughs were beginning to swarm. CHAPTER XIX APACHES There cannot be a war without violence and bloodshed, nor can all the losses be on one side. No matter which side is right, or which has the strongest battalions, Death holds a level hand. The Scarboroughs had killed Sharps and old Henry Bassett; but now the scales had turned and Red, their finest rifle-shot, had been shot down by Winchester Bassett. A posse of four men had ridden into their stronghold and offered to give them battle; and then, when they had refused and held fast to Indian tactics, Death had risen up and snatched away Red. Yet even with the body of their brother before them the Scarboroughs declined to fight. No swarm of vengeful Texans came spurring on their trail as Meshackatee led the way north, riding boldly up the trail which led like a highway towards the Rim; and at the divide above Canyon Creek they stopped. Here, though they were hidden in the pines, they could watch the trail both ways; and it was time to cook coffee and rest. And if, as might happen, any Scarborough men passed by, they could give them tit for tat. For a month and more the Scarboroughs in their arrogance had held up every wayfarer on this trail, and if a man did not belong to their secret organization he was destined to proceed on foot. All this the Bassetts knew, for the men who had given them shelter were the ones who had suffered the most; and when, late in the afternoon, they spied a horse-herd coming south they fairly romped to cover.