Sunset Pass or Running the Gauntlet Through Apache Land   By: Charles King (1844-1933)

OR

RUNNING THE GAUNTLET THROUGH APACHE LAND

BY CAPTAIN CHARLES KING

AUTHOR OF "THE DESERTER", "A WAR TIME WOOING", ETC

COPYRIGHTED, 1890 BY JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY

NEW YORK JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 150 WORTH ST., COR. MISSION PLACE

[Illustration: CAPT. CHAS. KING]

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

Capt. Chas. King

He Drew Little Nell close to Him

Manuelito Was shuffling about the Fire Apparently doing Nothing

"Where's Manuelito?"

His First Duty seemed to be to get the Provisions from the Wagon

"Jim, Old Boy, We've got to pull Together To night"

"My God! There's not a Living Soul in Sight"

Bending Down He raised Her in His Strong Arms Away He Flew at Full Speed

The Two Men set to Work to build Their Breastwork

Nellie, Clinging to Her Nurse, was terrified by the Sounds

The Poor Devil was now seated, Bound and Helpless, on a Rock by the Roadside

"That's what Jim took for an Apache"

One Vehement Kick and Curse He Gave Him

With One Backward Look He staggered Wearily on

"My God! What can have Happened? It's Captain Gwynne?"

Evidently the One Who was shot was a Man of Some Prominence among Them Possibly a Chief

All of a Sudden a Black Shadow rushed through the Air

Down With these Stones, Now!"

The Bullet of the Little Ballard had taken Him just under the Eye

SUNSET PASS.

CHAPTER I.

A RASH RESOLVE.

"Better take my advice, sir. The road ahead is thick with the Patchies."

"But you have come through all alone, my friend; why should I not go? I have been stationed among the Apaches for the last five years and have fought them all over Arizona. Surely I ought to know how to take care of myself."

"I don't doubt that, captain. It's the kids I'm thinking of. The renegades from the reservation are out in great numbers now and they are supposed to be all down in the Tonto Basin, but I've seen their moccasin tracks everywhere from the Colorado Chiquito across the 'Mogeyone,' and I'm hurrying in to Verde now to give warning and turn the troops this way."

"Well, why didn't they attack you, then, Al?"

The party thus addressed by the familiar diminutive of "Al" paused a moment before reply, an odd smile flitting about his bearded lips. A stronger, firmer type of scout and frontiersman than Al Sieber never sat in saddle in all Arizona in the seventies, and he was a noted character among the officers, soldiers, pioneers, and Apaches. The former respected and trusted him. The last named feared him as they did the Indian devil. He had been in fight after fight with them; had had his share of wounds, but what the Apaches recoiled from in awe was the fact that he had never met them in the field without laying one at least of their number dead in his tracks. He was a slim built, broad shouldered, powerful fellow, with a keen, intelligent face, and eyes that were kindly to all his friends, but kindled at sight of a foe. A broad brimmed, battered slouch hat was pulled well down over his brows; his flannel shirt and canvas trousers showed hard usage; his pistol belt hung loose and low upon his hips and on each side a revolver swung. His rifle Arizona fashion was balanced athwart the pommel of his saddle, and an old Navajo blanket was rolled at the cantle. He wore Tonto leggins and moccasins, and a good sized pair of Mexican spurs jingled at his heels. He looked and so did his horse as though a long, hard ride was behind them, but that they were ready for anything yet.