The sun was quite low in the sky, and the gait of the mustangs began to tell upon them. The two were galloping side by side, and going nearly at full speed. Both Tom and Dick were angry at being forced into such a position, which, to them, was a cowardly flight from a lot of wretches whom they despised and hated. "I must give 'em my compliments," suddenly exclaimed the latter, when they were within rifle shot of each other. As he spoke, he raised his gun, and fired into Lone Wolf's band. He seemed to take no aim at all, and, indeed, there was little necessity for it, as the Indians were so numerous and compact. A yell followed and then a commotion, showing very plainly that the shot had told. "I reckon I'll try it again, it works so well," said Dick, repeating the demonstration, except that he aimed to the company on the left. He took a little more pains to guard against throwing his shot away and the result was similar to the first. "Now we'll catch it," said the terrified Ned, crouching down beside the hunter, who like his friend was engaged in reloading his gun. But there was no return fire. The Apaches, evidently, had concluded that they could wait. The shots, however, resulted somewhat advantageously for the fugitives, who, during the momentary confusion thus created, managed to crowd a little ahead. The horses were then put to a dead run and the final rush made for Hurricane Hill, the last refuge for which the fugitives could flee, seeing which, the Indians converged toward them, and made every effort to shut them off. Although the hunters had apparently used their utmost endeavors up to this time, they had husbanded the strength of their animals so cleverly that their pursuers themselves were deceived, and when they expected to interpose themselves directly across the path, they beheld them flying like a whirlwind toward the rocks. The few hundred yards remaining between the latter and Hurricane Hill were passed in a few seconds by the fleet-footed mustangs. Ned was fairly dazed by the bewildering rush of events, and hardly able to keep track of their order. He saw the hurrying warriors directly behind them, and the rough, cragged mass of rocks in front. The next moment he was off the mustang. The scouts had checked their beasts at the same instant at the base of Hurricane Hill, and, leaping to the ground, skurried up the steep incline by which its surface was reached. The feet of the lad did not touch the earth. Dick, who was slightly in advance, carried him under his arm as if he were an infant snatched up in haste, and the men bounded toward the top of the hill, the whole howling horde at their heels.