"Lie low! lie low!" breathed the plainsman to his companions.
Throb of hoofs again became audible, not loud and madly pounding as those that had passed, but low, muffled, rhythmic.

Jones's sharp eye, through a peephole in the thicket, saw a cream-colored mustang bob over the knoll, carrying an Indian.

Another and another, then a swiftly following, close-packed throng appeared.

Bright red feathers and white gleamed; weapons glinted; gaunt, bronzed savage leaned forward on racy, slender mustangs.
The plainsman shrank closer to the ground.

"Apache!" he exclaimed to himself, and gripped his rifle.