Having come so near success, they would resort to the same means, taking care to provide against a second ignominious defeat at the hands of the defenders.

The darkness, on the whole, was far more helpful to the latter than to their assailants, for, if care was used, it was beyond the power of the Indians to discover the presence of any person on the roof. The Comanches, from the force of circumstances, would have to move back some rods from the building, to see the cover, and that distance was sufficient to shut out all sight of a figure, so long as it remained prone. If a man rose to his feet, as Dinah had done, his outlines would show, and he would become an instant target for the redskins.

It was with a full conviction of these important facts that the Texan, imitating the action of his servant, unfastened the scuttle, and noiselessly let it fall back behind him. Then he thrust his head and shoulders through and scanned the half of the roof in his field of vision.

Nothing to cause alarm was discerned, and rising still higher, he peered over the peak to the other side.

The air had the odor of burning wood, and the cavity burned in the roof showed signs of life, but they were so slight as to be harmless. They would soon die out, despite the strong wind still blowing.

It need not be said that the Texan had not the remotest intention of following the example of his servant. If he should discover the presence of an Indian on the roof, little fear of an attempt to steal upon him unaware and fling him to the earth below. The captain held his Winchester firmly grasped and most of its chambers were charged. That offered the true solution of his problem, in case of the appearance of danger, and he was not the man to hesitate in such an emergency.

He did not fail to notice that which was observed by his nephew: the Comanches had ceased their whooping and firing, though the tramping of their mustangs proved that most of the warriors were still mounted and circling back and forth in the aimless effort to detect some means of getting at the defiant inmates of the house.

"Avon has given them the slip," was his conclusion, "though he must have had a close call. There is one Indian less, at any rate, than when he stole out of the cabin."

Such was the fact, though, as we have shown, he did not fall by the rifle of the youth.

The Texan was standing on the chair in the upper room, with his head and shoulders through the opening, all his senses on the alert, when he caught the faint report of a rifle, repeated several times. The sounds came from a point a long way off, and he could only conjecture their cause.

"If it was over yonder," he added, referring to a point of the compass almost opposite, "I would believe the boy fired the gun and had come in collision with some more of the scamps that are so plenty to-night, but he can't be over there, because that would lead him further from the camp of the cattlemen."

And yet, as the reader suspects, the rifle was discharged by the young man, who, in obedience to the general law, had strayed in the wrong direction in his blind search for his friends.

It was not necessary to give any attention to matters below stairs. He could not believe that danger threatened there, but, should it appear in an unexpected form, the women would give quick notice, and he could hasten to their aid.

"Avon ought to reach camp in half an hour," continued the Texan, following his train of thought; "true, he is on foot, but he knows every step of the way, and won't allow the grass to grow under his feet; it will take the boys about half a minute to make ready; the cattle can be left to themselves, so they ought to be here within three-quarters of an hour, and won't they make fur fly when they do come!" added the Texan with a thrill; "they will welcome such a chance to even up matters with these cattle thieves, who have been hanging round the country for nearly a week; they will give them a lesson which will make it safe for the women until we get back, even if gone six months."

Despite his watchfulness against his foes, his gaze continually wandered to the northward, whence the expected aid was to come. His elevation was not sufficient to permit him to see beyond the ridge which his relative must pass to reach camp, but he listened for the assuring shouts which were sure to proclaim the arrival of the brave fellows who were always ready to risk their lives for a friend.

Although the captain relied chiefly upon the darkness to screen him from sight of the Comanches, he could not feel sure of entire safety in his situation. In order to hold all of the roof in his field of vision, he had to keep not only his head but his shoulders above the level of the scuttle. By doing this, he could look over the peak, but his danger lay in the evident fact that the Indians knew the location of the opening, and would use their eyes for all they were worth in striving to detect anyone venturing out of it.

The conviction, therefore, was that his conspicuous posture was likely to reveal his outlines to some watchful warrior, who might rise to his feet on the back of his steed so as to permit a closer view of the roof.

No more uncomfortable sensation can be imagined than that of one who continually invites the skill of a sharp-shooter, and the Texan met the difficulty not by shrinking, like a turtle, within his protection, but by climbing stealthily out upon the planking, where he remained extended at full length.

This rendered him less liable to be seen, but if his assailants should take a notion to sweep the deck, as may be said, with rifle bullets, he was far more likely to receive some of them in his person than he would be by retaining his former place.

But a greater or less degree of danger must attend any effort to frustrate the designs of the red men, who were inspired by a hatred intensified by the loss of two of their number.

With his face almost pressing the planking the Texan drew himself, inch by inch, along the roof, until he was some six feet distant. Then he paused and listened, slightly raising his head and peering around in the gloom.

Once he heard the hoofs of a galloping horse, which, however, quickly ceased. Then several whistle-like signals passed between the marauders, and he was able to catch the murmur of voices within the cabin. The wife and servant were talking together, and, though their words were low, the open doors allowed the slight noise to reach the ears of the Texan, without telling him what words were spoken.

Holding his position several minutes, he turned a little to the left and crept along, until able to look over the low peak of the roof. He did this by raising his head the few inches necessary to bring his eyes just above the level.

Everything, so far as he could judge, was the same as before. The smouldering in the cavity had died out, though the smoke was as pungent as ever.

"Dinah could not have done her work more effectively, and a reasonable person ought to be satisfied——"

His keen sense of hearing apprised him of a noise, slight but significant, near him. His first thought was that it was in front, but the next moment he knew it came from the rear. Turning his head in that direction, without moving his body, he caught the outlines of a Comanche's head at the lower corner of the roof behind him. It slowly rose until the shoulders appeared, and no doubt remained that the Indian was cautiously climbing upon the roof, to renew the attempt to set fire to it.



CHAPTER XIII.

A DEAD RACE.

Avon Burnet was thunderstruck. When he supposed he was several miles from the cabin of his uncle, he found himself directly in front of it, and the Indian horse, upon which he relied to take him to the camp of the cattlemen, had brought him to what might be called the mouth of the lion's den.

Not only had the precious minutes been thrown away, but his peril was of the most desperate nature.

Hardly had the pony halted, when a couple of figures loomed to view in the darkness on the left, and one of them called to him in Comanche. This told the youth that his identity was unsuspected by the red men, whose view was too indistinct to distinguish him from one of their own number. But they were coming toward him, and his broad sombrero must reveal the truth the next instant.

Not a second was to be lost. They were almost upon him, when he wheeled and urged his mustang to a dead run, throwing himself forward at the same moment, in the usual way, to avoid the bullets that would be whistling about him before he could pass beyond reach.

But the steed got the mischief in him at this moment. He must have understood the treachery demanded of him, for instead of dashing off, as was expected, he spitefully flung his head from side to side and reared, with his fore-legs high from the ground.

Had Avon been on the open prairie, with time at his command, he would have conquered the beast, as he had done many a time with others, but he could not do so now. There was not the twinkling of an eye at his disposal.

The mustang was still rearing and pawing the air, when Avon whisked over his shoulder, like a skilled equestrian, landing nimbly on his feet, and breaking into a dead run toward the cattle camp five miles away. His action, as well as that of his horse, made known the astonishing truth to the approaching Comanches.

Several warning whoops broke the stillness, and it seemed to the fugitive that half the Indians were in pursuit of him. He glanced back and was not a little surprised to observe that all were on foot. The pony which had just been freed must have concluded to enjoy his liberty while the chance was his, for, instead of going to his master, he galloped whinnying in another direction.

But all of these men had mustangs, which, as has been said, were among the finest of their species, and they were likely to take part in the singular contest.

If the chase should retain its present character the young man had hope, for he was one of the fleetest of Texans, who had never met his superior among the veterans of the plains. The Comanches are also wonderfully active on foot, and it remained to be decided whether they could overtake him in a fair contest.

Avon Burnet ran as never before. He was speeding now for his own life as well as for that of his friends, for they were in as urgent need of help as ever. He knew his face was toward camp, he remembered the nature of the ground, and had no fear, therefore, of stumbling into any pitfalls.

Accustomed as the Comanches were to running, they must have been surprised at the burst of speed shown by the young man, who seemed to be going over the plain like the wind.

As he ran Avon cast furtive glances over his shoulder, and his heart tingled when he saw that he was steadily drawing away from the four figures which seemed to have sprung from the ground itself.

"Keep it up, boys," he muttered, "and see where you land. If you can down me in this style, you are welcome."

But it was not to be expected that the pursuers would content themselves while the swift-footed youth left them out of sight. The moment they saw that such an issue was likely, they would resort to their rifles, and there could be no question of their skill with those weapons, which they had been accustomed to use from the hour they were strong enough to hold one of them.

There must have been some urgent wish on the part of the red men to capture the youth, else they would have appealed to their guns at first. The rearing mustang served as a partial shield to the fugitive, until he was fairly under way and had secured a start of several rods, in fact being almost invisible in the gloom at the moment the race fairly opened.

The third glance over his shoulder showed him only two of the Comanches in sight, and hardly half a minute elapsed, when, on looking back again, only one was visible.

But the fact became speedily apparent that this particular red man was as fleet as himself. He must have been the champion of his tribe, since he parted company with his companions so speedily.

"I don't know whether I can shake you off or not," thought the fugitive, "but it's a mighty sight better to be chased by a single enemy than by several."

The youth determined upon a piece of strategy, should it prove possible. He meant to keep up the flight, without escaping his pursuer, until he was drawn so far away from the rest that he could receive no help from them. This, at the same time, would encourage the miscreant in the belief that he would soon overhaul and make him prisoner.

The first part of the scheme was comparatively simple. It was easier to allow the scamp to gain upon him than it was to outrun him; it was somewhat more difficult to hold the rates of speed relatively equal, while it looked extremely doubtful whether, when the moment should arrive, he could leave him behind.

In support of this view, Avon did not fail to remember that he had put forth his utmost exertion from the first, and still was unable to shake off his enemy, who clung as persistently to him as does the wolf to the wounded bison.

What he feared, too, as much as anything else, was that the other Comanches, who had withdrawn from the race, would hasten to the vicinity of the cabin, and, mounting their mustangs, take part in the struggle. If a horseman should get but a single glimpse of him, it would not take him long to run the fugitive down.

It was this dread which caused him to swerve gradually to the left, though he kept such careful note of the change that there was no danger of his going astray as before.

None of the pursuers, from the moment of starting, gave vent to any outcry, as they are generally supposed to do under similar circumstances. Such a proceeding would have been as great a draught upon his strength as outright laughter, and the American Indian is too wise not to husband every resource.

It required little cessation of effort to permit the Comanche to come up with him at an alarming rate. A few minutes would have allowed the pursuer to overhaul the fugitive.

Only a few minutes had passed since the furious start, and Avon felt that the time had come to consider himself as dealing only with this single redskin. Still bearing to the left he put forth all his energies, resolved to run away from him, if the achievement was within the range of possibility.

It was not. Try as desperately as he might, the Comanche could not be shaken off.

An encounter being inevitable, Avon had to decide upon the manner in which it should take place.

Inasmuch as the warrior must have felt certain of coming up with him, he was not likely to appeal to his rifle, or that would have been his first act when the contest opened. He would continue to run until near enough either to seize the youth or to use his weapon against him.

Avon concluded that the only course which offered hope was to allow the warrior to approach slightly closer, and then to wheel and let him have several chambers from his Winchester.

He would have to act quickly, but he had already proven himself capable of that, and it might be that the Comanche would be looking for something of the kind, and was supple enough to secure the drop on him. His people were accustomed to border warfare and had graduated in all the subtlety of the fearful business.

Young Burnet had fixed his course of action in his mind when, to his consternation, he heard the sounds of approaching hoofs over the prairie!



CHAPTER XIV.

THE FRIEND IN NEED.

If horsemen were thundering toward the spot, the fugitive was doomed.

But, though seized with despair, he did not yield. On the contrary, he was nerved to such desperation that he put forth a tremendous effort, which quickly increased the space between him and the pursuer.

But instead of heading away from the coming animals, he turned directly toward them, at the same astonishing velocity. Why he did this, he himself did not fully understand. It may have been that, impressed with the utter uselessness of trying to escape by running, he had a blind hope of unhorsing one of his enemies and wrenching his steed from him.

He had taken only a few leaps, however, when he discovered that the beasts running forward, as if to meet him, were cattle.

Fully fifty animals, belonging to the herd several miles distant, had started out on a little stampede of their own, and fate brought them and him in collision.

It mattered not, for nothing could make the situation worse. The next instant Avon was among them, in imminent risk of being trampled to death. The beasts were terrified by the advent of the footman, and scattered in the wildest confusion.

While he was in such deadly peril, the animals served as a shield against the assault of the Comanche close behind him. Anxious as he was to secure the fugitive, he was not prepared to "cut him out" from a drove of stampeded cattle.

He turned to avoid the terrific rush, and catching fitful glimpses of the leaping form among the beasts, raised his gun and let fly.

His shot struck, but, instead of bringing down the youth, it tumbled one of the bullocks headlong on the plain. Avon would have turned at once to give attention to his enemy, had he not been fully occupied in saving himself from the animals themselves.

Fortunately he had not penetrated far among the drove, and, by a continuance of his inimitable dexterity, he dodged from among them, helped thereto by the efforts of the cattle themselves to flee from the terrifying object.

It was at this juncture, when the youth was striving to get sight of his enemy, who, he believed, was trying equally hard to secure another shot at him, that he saw the very thing he had been dreading from the first.

It was a single horseman, who almost rode him down ere he could check his steed. Avon was so flurried from his fierce exertions, that, before he could bring his rifle to his shoulder and discharge it, the other anticipated him.

But the man did not fire at him. He aimed at the Comanche, not a dozen yards distant, and hit him fairly and squarely.

"Helloa, Baby, what the mischief is up?"

"Thank Heaven, Ballyhoo, it's you!" exclaimed the panting youth, ready to drop from exhaustion.

"Ballyhoo," was the nickname of Oscar Gleeson, one of the cowboys in charge of the two thousand cattle that were to start northward on the morrow over the Great Cattle Trail.

"Baby" was the name by which Avon Burnet was known among the rest, because of his youth.

Leaning over his horse, the tall Texan reached down and grasped the hand of his young friend.

"It sort of looks, Baby, as though I had arrived in time to do you a little turn."

"There's no doubt of that, for I couldn't have run much further."

"But why did you run at all? I observed but one Injin, and he's of no further account now."

"When I started there were four after me, but I threw all out of sight except one. I was on the point of turning to fight him, when I heard the cattle, and thought they were other Comanches coming to the help of this fellow."

"But things seem to be in a queer shape at the house; tell me the trouble."

"Why, how did you know anything about it at all?" asked the surprised Avon.

"I've been down there and seen things for myself."

"Let me hear about that first, then I'll let you know what I have to tell, and it is important indeed."

The Texan, in obedience to his training, cast a look after the vanishing herd and sighed.

"It'll be a big job to round them up, but I guess we'll have to leave 'em alone for a time. Wal, you know we went into camp a few miles to the north, to wait for you and the captain that was to jine us in the morning. We were looking after things, when I remembered that I had left my package of tobacco at the house. Things were so quiet, and I was so afeared that you and the captain would forgit to bring it with you, that I concluded to ride over after it myself. I never dreamed of any of the varmints being there, and was going along at a swinging gait, when I heard the sound of a gun and I fetched up my horse to learn what it meant. I didn't see an Injin, but while I was looking somebody made a rush from the front of the house for the bush."

"It was myself," interrupted Avon excitedly, "and the captain fired to save me and did it."

"I reckon that was Ballyhoo Gleeson that let loose that partic'lar shot," said the cowboy with a chuckle; "I didn't know who it was running, but thought it was one of the varmints. Just afore that I was sure that I seed one of 'em and I let fly, shootin' on gineral principles as you might say. I might have investigated things, but the Comanches were too numerous for comfort, and I wheeled about and made off."

"So it was you who fired the shot that really cleared the way for me," said the astonished youth; "I supposed, all the time, that it was my uncle. Where have you been since?"

"I started for camp to tell the boys, and was on my way when I met these confounded cattle. I didn't want them to get too fur off, as none of the fellows 'peared to be after them. I was trying to round them up, when this little affair took place."

"But, Ballyhoo, why didn't you let the cattle go and make all haste after help."

"Who wants help?"

"The folks in the house; do you suppose I would have ventured out as I did, if they were not in instant need of it?"

Evidently the Texan found it hard to understand the extremity of Captain Shirril and his family.

"There are three of 'em there and each has a gun; I don't see why you need worry, 'cause the varmints can't get at 'em and they'll clear out in the morning."

"That might be, but uncle says they will set fire to the cabin, unless they are driven off."

"I didn't think of that," replied Gleeson, who still could not feel the alarm of his young friend; "the cabin has been purty well dried up by the drought of the last few months. I thought the varmints were after the cattle, and," he added, again peering through the gloom after the herd, which had run so far that they were not only out of sight but beyond hearing, "they stand a show of making a good haul. But," he continued more savagely, "they will find a little trouble in getting off with them. There's too many for us to lose without a big fight."

"It doesn't make any difference if the whole herd is stampeded, we must hurry to the aid of the folks in the cabin."

"Being as them sentiments are the captain's," said Ballyhoo, "why, I'm agreeable to doing as him and you wish. So jump up here behind me, and we'll go to camp."

"I can walk."

"Up with you!" commanded the Texan. "I shouldn't wonder if some more of the varmints will be on hand afore long, to attend the obsequies of their champion runner."

Avon obeyed, and the laden mustang struck off to the northward, at an easy gait.



CHAPTER XV.

VANISHED.

It was a startling sight, when Captain Shirril, stretched at full length on the roof of his cabin, gazed in front of him and saw the head and shoulders of a Comanche Indian slowly rise to view at the corner of the eaves.

He could not doubt its meaning: the assailants were bent on burning the structure, and were willing to face the danger that was sure to meet them in making the attempt.

Even in this exciting moment, the Texan could not help asking himself the question which he had asked many times before: why did not the redskins set fire to the side of the house, where they were involved in no such peril as now? They might have gathered several armfuls of combustibles, and, heaping them against the wooden walls, fire them at their leisure, but, for some reason, they preferred to climb upon the roof, and run the risk of colliding with the courageous Dinah or her fearless master.

In doing as they did, the Comanches were shrewder than would be supposed. It is true that the narrow windows commanded only one side of the cabin, and that the attempt spoken of brought little if any danger to themselves. In fact, as afterward was learned, they did their best to set fire to the rear, and at the end, but the timber was so damp that the flames failed to communicate. The long continued drought affected the walls to a far less degree than the roof, where the sun had free play day after day. Had there been a driving storm, the top would have been less favorable than the walls, but from the causes named it lost its moisture much more readily.

Besides, the flames on the roof could not be reached as readily nor with so much safety by the defenders as at the sides. They naturally believed there was plenty of water at command. The moment the fire should begin to show through the crevices in the timbers, this could be dashed against the other side and brought into play.

It was different on the roof, which could not be reached so well. There may have been other motives influencing the Comanches in the first instance, such as supposing that the whites, having once repulsed the attempt, would not look for its repetition, since the Indians must expose themselves to the greatest possible peril.

However, without speculating as to their reasons, the fact remained that a second Indian was rising like an apparition above the eaves, with the evident intention of trying to repair the failure of his companion a short time before.

Captain Shirril felt that it would have been better had he stayed where he was; for, with his head just above the level of the scuttle, he could have picked off the wretch the very moment he became aware of his presence.

But now, while creeping so guardedly along the roof, he had held his rifle by the barrel, with most of the weapon behind him. Had it been discharged, in that position, it was he who would have received the bullet, instead of the Indian.

To make the gun effective, he must bring it around in front and sight it. While his own form pressed the planking so close that the savage apparently failed to identify him, though carefully scanning the surface, there was a strong probability that he would detect the meaning of the slight noise involved in the act.

The Texan dared not advance nor retreat, though he would have preferred to withdraw through the opening; but the moment he made sure of what confronted him, he began bringing his gun forward, with the resolve to fire the moment he could draw a bead on the miscreant.

The weapon advanced like the minute-hand over the face of a clock. Knowing the stake for which he was working, he did not neglect any precaution that could bring success.

"He can duck his head quickly enough," thought the captain, "but I'll pick him off the instant there is reason to believe he scents mischief."

His intention, in such an event, was to bring his Winchester to the right position and discharge it with the utmost celerity. His experience in the Civil War and in Texas rendered him an adept at this business, but, on the other hand, it will be seen that the precautions of the Comanche himself could be executed in a twinkling.

"Confound the luck!"

Captain Shirril had almost reached the decisive point, when the head of the redskin vanished!

Whether or not he saw his danger cannot be said, but it is probable that the slight noise of the arm and gun struck his ear and decided him to drop out of sight until an investigation should be made.

The Texan was exasperated, for he was eager to bring down this scamp, and, up to the moment of his disappearance, was confident of doing so, but the opportunity was gone.

Instead of retreating to cover again, he decided to remain on the roof a brief while longer; but he stealthily shifted his position a little nearer the edge of the building. Now that he was at liberty for the moment, he laid aside his gun and drew his revolver. That was the weapon for such an emergency, and he kept it in position for instant use, without the fatal preliminaries that had just defeated his purpose.

The captain clung to the belief that, despite the second repulse of the Comanches, they would persist in their attempt until it should prove too costly to them.

But he was not shortsighted enough to believe the repetition would be in the precise fashion of the last: that is to say, he did not suspect the Indian, after ducking so promptly out of range, would pop up his head again to invite a shot.

"He will appear at some other corner," was his conclusion, "which they believe is unguarded."

His eyes had become so accustomed to the gloom that he could trace the outlines of the eaves around the cabin, and he felt little fear, therefore, of his enemies stealing upon him unawares. They might try it, but he was confident of defeating their purpose at the very onset.

Another fear troubled him: having learned that he was on the roof, they were likely to begin firing at it from a distance, raking the entire surface so effectively that some of the bullets were quite sure to find him. Prudence whispered to him to withdraw into the interior of the cabin while the chance was his, but there was a stubborn streak in the Texan's composition which caused him to hold his place. He had been under fire so often that it seemed as if nothing could disturb his coolness or ruffle his presence of mind, and he was so inured to personal peril that he felt something of the old thrill of which he had spoken earlier in the evening, when recalling his experience in the war that had closed only a few years before.

But none of the expected shots came. He heard the sound of more than one mustang's hoofs, and several signals between the warriors, but no one sent a bullet skimming along the slope on which he lay looking and listening, and on the alert for the first appearance of his assailants.

This led him to suspect that, after all, they were not certain of his presence. It was sound and not sight that had caused the sudden withdrawal of the warrior.

If this were the case, there was a greater probability of his showing up again.

It is at such times that the minutes seem to have ten-fold their real length. The Texan, after glancing closely along the rim of the roof, not forgetting to take a peep over the peak, turned his gaze to the northward, and listened for the sounds that were so long in coming. Not the glimmer of a light showed in that direction, nor could he catch the faintest sound of a galloping hoof, other than such as was made by the mustangs of the Comanches near the building.

"Avon ought to have arrived before this, and the boys would not throw away a second after learning the truth from him. He may have been hindered, but——"



CHAPTER XVI.

CLEVERLY DONE.

At this moment the Texan heard something.

The noise could not have been any more distinct than that which had apprised the Comanche of his peril just in time to save himself. It was so faint, indeed, that it was not until he had listened a few seconds longer that he could decide the precise point whence it came.

It was at the same end of the cabin, but on the corner opposite to that where he had detected the warrior. The captain, therefore, was forced to peep over the edge of the peak, in order to hold his gaze on the point. This was easy enough, and, as he stealthily peered through the gloom, he levelled his weapon, in whose use he was as skilful as that of the Winchester.

He had decided in his mind the precise point where the head of the Indian would rise to view, and he was resolved not to throw away his chance this time. The moment he could make sure of his target, he would perforate it with several bullets, in order to prevent any possible mistake.

But, though the sound was repeated, the object itself failed to materialize. It was there, but he could not see it clearly enough to risk a shot.

Strange that, with all the Texan's experience, this fact did not lead him to suspect the real cause of the warrior's continued absence!

But at the moment he began speculating, he became convinced that his enemy was moving. He was there and had betrayed himself.

Everyone knows the extreme difficulty of seeing an object distinctly when the light is poor, and we concentrate our gaze upon it. That which is clear at first grows dim and perhaps vanishes altogether from sight.

Something of the kind is noticeable when we try to count the seven stars of the Pleiades. It is easy enough to fix upon six, but if we gaze too intently, the seventh modestly withdraws from view.

This was the case for a minute or two with Captain Shirril. The first glance at the suspicious point showed him the outlines of a head, but while gazing at it, he began to doubt whether it was there at all. Aware of the peculiarity named, he turned his eyes toward a spot several feet removed, and then glanced back to the original point.

The Comanche was there!

The Texan sighted his pistol as best he could in the obscurity, but, while doing so with all care, the target began to grow dim, until he was afraid that, if he pressed the trigger, a miss would result, and surely he could not afford that.

"I'll wait," was his decision; "he can't know that I'm on the watch, and there will be more of him in sight before long."

It was remarkable indeed that the sagacious captain still failed to suspect the object of this strange proceeding.

There came the moment when there was no cause for longer delay. The shoulders were in sight, and the skilful marksman was certain of bringing the warrior down with his first bullet.

But at the moment of firing, he was restrained by a strange suspicion, or rather a strange occurrence.

The head of the Comanche made an abrupt flirt to one side—then straightened up, flopped still more in the other direction, and then became upright again.

This was not only extraordinary, but it was something which a genuine Indian would never do, whether he belonged to the Comanche or some other tribe.

"Ah, ha—that's your game, is it?" muttered the Texan, catching on to the truth.

The cunning red men were making use of a dummy instead of one of their own number, and, astounding as the statement may seem, this dummy was the very warrior that had fallen by the shot of Oscar Gleeson.

Instead of trusting the success of their scheme to an image made by mounting a blanket over the end of a stick, and which might well deceive where there was so little light, they had picked up the inanimate body, lifted it upon the back of one of their mustangs, and slowly elevated it above the eaves, imitating the natural action as closely as they could.

However, they ought to have practiced the trick before risking so much on its success. Everything was going right, until the head reached a point where it was not advisable to support it further, since the hands thus employed were likely to receive some of the bullets they expected to be fired after it.

The withdrawal of the support caused it to tip to one side, and the too prompt effort to retrieve the mistake sent it in the opposite direction. This mishap was quickly repaired, but not until the deception had become manifest to the watchful Texan, who smiled grimly, without suspecting the deeper meaning of the performance.

"I don't think I will throw away any shots on you" he said to himself; "for there will be plenty of other chances where more good may be done."

A thoughtful man might have concluded that the Comanches were taking a good deal of unnecessary pains. Suppose the white man did send several bullets into the dummy, there was no hope of his exhausting his supply or of the Comanche finding him wholly unprepared.

They probably believed that, after such a discharge on his part, he would not expect an instant renewal of the attempt, and would, therefore, be off his guard for a few seconds, during which they could make their rush.

This was drawing it exceedingly fine, and the Texan did not attempt to explain that which must always remain a partial mystery.

"I wonder now whether that can be a little plan to hold my attention, while they try something in another direction," was his next thought, which proved that Captain Shirril was at last approaching the right trail.

The image, or rather body, having been raised far enough above the eaves to show the head and shoulders, remained as stationary as if carved in wood. It was unsafe for its projectors to trust it further without support. It was now ready to receive the fire of the gentleman, and the Comanches might well ask why it was he delayed opening business.

He kept it under scrutiny a few seconds longer, fearful that there might be some hidden design which he did not understand; and then, in obedience to his suspicion, he turned his head to look over the roof behind him.

At the moment of doing so, he heard a stealthy but rapid step. The first glance showed him a sinewy warrior, moving softly across the planking from the other end of the cabin and coming directly toward him.

The Comanche was in a crouching posture, with his rifle in his left hand, while his right rested on his hip, as if grasping the handle of his knife.

Supposing the dusky foe was coming for him, Captain Shirril rose to a half-sitting position, and held his revolver ready. He meant to wait until his enemy was so near that there could be no possibility of missing him.

Before that point was reached, the Comanche would have to pass directly by the open scuttle. The Texan awaited his coming with the same coolness he had shown from the first, when to his inexpressible amazement the Indian dropped directly through the open door and drew it shut after him, with a suddenness like that of the snapping of a knife-blade.

And then it was that Captain Shirril read the meaning of that strange manoeuvring at the corner of the roof, and awoke to the fact that he had been completely outwitted.



CHAPTER XVII.

AT FAULT.

Captain Shirril was never so outwitted in all his life. With never a suspicion that the Comanche, dashing over the roof, had any other purpose than to assail him, he was holding his revolver pointed, reflecting at the same time on the blind folly of the red man in rushing to his fate, when he dropped through the scuttle and closed it after him.

With a muttered exclamation of chagrin the Texan leaped to his feet, reaching the spot in a couple of bounds, and let fly with two chambers of his weapon. The bullets skimmed over the door, the inimitable dexterity of the Indian saving him as by a hair's breadth.

Thus the fellow had entered the cabin after all, by a piece of strategy as brilliant as it was daring, and the only man who was a defender of the place found himself shut out and a prisoner, as may be said, on the roof.

Unwilling to believe the astounding logic of facts, the captain stooped down and tried to lift the door; but it had been placed there with the view of being raised only from below. It was impossible to get anything but the slightest hold upon it, and when he tried to lift it upward, it could not be moved.

The Comanche was either holding it, or had fastened it in place by means of the iron hook.

Thinking only of the safety of his wife and servant, the Texan bent over, and, putting his mouth as close to the edge as he could, shouted:

"Look out down there, Edna! There's an Indian on the upper floor, and I am fastened on the roof."

Provided his wife heard the warning, this particular Comanche was liable, after all, to find that, in undertaking his contract, he would be unable to deliver the goods. But, if the warning reached the ears of the women, would they comprehend its significance? That was the question which must soon be answered.

The meaning of the peculiar strategy of the Comanches was now fully understood by the victim. With a humiliation beyond description, he comprehended how he had fallen into the trap that had been set so cunningly for his feet.

All this trifling at one corner of the roof was intended to hold his attention, while one of the warriors stealthily climbed over the eaves at another portion and reached the inside by dropping through the scuttle.

The plan, simple as it might seem, had worked to perfection.

The moment the captain comprehended that he was shut out as effectually as the miscreant was shut in, he glared around in quest of others who might be trying to work his own death by a continuation of their cunning. Aware, too, of his exposure to their shots, he quickly sank on his face, with his head nigh enough to the peak to hold the entire surface under his eye.

It was well he did so; for from the same corner that the successful Indian had come, he discerned a second climbing over the eaves. He was doing so with an eagerness that showed he was discounting his own chances.

"Whether you are bogus or not, here goes!"

The Texan did not rely upon his revolver to serve him in the crisis, but hastily aiming his Winchester, pulled the trigger.

The Comanche, whose body was half over the roof, threw up his arms with a wild screech and disappeared backward, as abruptly as his companion had gone down the scuttle. There could be no doubt of the success of that shot.

"I would like to have a few more of you try it," muttered the defender, compressing his lips and glancing right and left. His blood was up and he was in a desperate mood.

But his own situation was one of extreme peril. The Comanches must be aware of his singular dilemma, and were not likely to leave him undisputed master of the situation, at least as long as he remained on the outside.

That this supposition was right was proven the next minute, when, from a point several rods distant, a gun was fired and the bullet skipped over the surface within a few inches of where he was crouching. A second shot followed still closer, and the captain crept a little farther from the scuttle.

But for fear of alarming his friends below, he would have uttered a cry, as if of pain, with a view of convincing the Comanches that their shots had proven fatal. Then they would be tempted to send more of their number over the roof, where they would fall victims to his marksmanship.

It looked as if the assailants were in doubt on this point, for after the two shots they ceased firing, and everything remained silent for several minutes.

Captain Shirril, even in his anxiety for himself, could not forget the inmates of his home. Two women and a fierce warrior were inside, and matters were sure to become lively there before long.

In the midst of this oppressive stillness, occurred Avon Burnet's adventure which has been told elsewhere. It was impossible for the captain to understand what the confusion on the prairie meant, but he saw that it was a diversion of some kind which, fortunately for himself, held the attention of his enemies for a while longer.

He felt a vague suspicion that the Indian in the room below would try to get a shot at him through the scuttle door. He could raise it for an inch or more, and, provided the white man was in his line of range, fire with quick and unerring accuracy. It is singular that he did not do this in the first place, after reaching the roof, and before the Texan discovered his presence so near him.

Lying extended as flat as before, Captain Shirril placed his ear close to the door and listened.

Within the first minute he caught a sound, but it was so faint and indefinite that he could not tell what it meant. It might have been caused by someone moving about in the room directly below, but he was inclined to believe that the Comanche was still near the scuttle and was trying to get his range.

All at once the heart of the Texan gave a start. He was sure the door was pushed upward the slightest possible distance. It looked as if the Comanche was endeavoring to do the very thing suspected—that is, he was seeking to gain sight of the white man in order to give him a stealthy shot.

"If he will but raise that door a single inch," was the exultant thought of the captain, "I will get my fingers under the edge and yank it back in spite of all he can do, and just about that time the band will begin to play."

But would the Indian be rash enough to do this? The first glimpse through the slightest crevice would tell him that his intended victim had shifted his position. He would be shrewd enough to suspect its meaning, and would take care that he did not throw away the golden opportunity he had so brilliantly won.

Ah, if his wife and Dinah could but learn the exact truth! They would quickly prove potent factors in the scheme. Their familiarity with the house would enable them to eliminate that wretch who just then seemed to be master of the situation.

Yes; the door moved again. The Indian must be beneath, and was striving to do something with the covering, which at present shielded him from the vengeance of the white man whom he had foiled.

The latter silently extended his hand to the edge of the door, hoping that the purchase for which he was waiting was within reach. He was disappointed. If the structure had been moved, it was to such a slight extent as to afford no advantage.

He held his hand in the same position, intent on seizing the chance the instant it presented itself, but the Indian was wonderfully cunning. It would seem that having introduced himself into the ranchman's home, he would have been content to follow the purpose that had taken him thither, without giving more attention to the white man, whom he had certainly spared for the time, when he was in his power. The captain could not understand the logic which appeared to be controlling this warrior from the moment he climbed over the edge of the roof.



CHAPTER XVIII.

AN UNEXPECTED QUERY.

As long as Captain Shirril stayed near the scuttle, he could not command a view of the entire roof of his cabin. His interest in what was going on below made him anxious to do this, but he was too alive to his own danger to remain motionless for more than a few minutes at a time.

The indistinct rustling that had awakened his hope soon ceased, and he was compelled to believe the Comanche had given up his intention of trying to gain a stealthy shot at him and was now devoting himself to the inmates of the dwelling.

How he longed to descend through the scuttle and take part in the stirring events that must soon be under way there! What short work he would make of the wretch who had dared to assume such a risk!

But it was useless to regret his own shortsightedness, now that it rendered him powerless to strike a blow for his friends. He crept to the peak of the roof, and scrutinized every portion thus brought into his field of vision. Not the slightest sound fell upon his ear that could indicate danger, nor could he discern anything of his enemies.

The wind was still blowing fitfully, and he heard the familiar rustle of the mesquite bush, with now and then a signal passing between the Comanches. He listened in vain for the noise made by the hoofs of their mustangs. They seemed to have ceased their aimless galloping back and forth, and were probably plotting some new form of mischief.

Suddenly the rattle of a horse's feet struck him. It broke upon his hearing for an instant, and then ceased as abruptly as it had made itself manifest.

It was as if a steed were galloping over the soft earth, and, reaching a small bridge of planks, dashed over them with two or three bounds, his hoofs immediately becoming inaudible in the yielding ground beyond.

That which might have puzzled a listener was plain to the Texan, who had spent many years on the plains of the Southwest. He knew that what might be called a peculiar eddy in the fitful wind had brought the sound to him. A sudden change of direction—ended as soon as it began—whirled the noise as straight across the intervening space as if it had been fired by an arrow.

The sound was similar to that which he had noticed many times that evening, but the impression came to him that it possessed a significance which belonged to none of the others. It was a single horse, and he was going at a moderate speed, which, however, was the case with most of those he had heard.

All at once the sound broke upon his ear again, but this time it was accompanied by the noise of many other hoofs.

"They are cattle," was his conclusion; "a part of the herd has been stampeded, and one of the men is trying to round them up: it was his mustang that I heard—ah! there it goes again!"

It was the crack of a rifle and the screech of a mortally struck person that startled him this time.

"I believe that was a Comanche who has gone down before the rifle of one of our men."

As the reader is aware, the Texan was correct in every particular, for it was the report of Gleeson's Winchester, which ended the career of the warrior pressing Avon Burnet so hard, that reached the captain as he lay on the roof of his own dwelling.

The whimsical nature of the wind, that had been blowing all the night, excluded further sounds. The stillness that succeeded seemed so unnatural in its way that it might have alarmed a more superstitious person. Once the faintest possible rumbling of the cattle's hoofs was detected, but it quickly subsided, and nothing more of the kind was noticeable.

It was clear that the Comanches in the immediate vicinity of the cabin must have noted all that interested the Texan. Whatever the issue of the remarkable meeting on the prairie, there could be no doubt that one of the red men had been laid low. Another had been shot by the captain a short time before, not to mention the other one or two that he believed had fallen.

Thus far, no one of the inmates had been harmed, unless perchance his nephew was overtaken by disaster. Consequently, the game the Comanches were playing, though they did their part with rare skill, was a losing one up to this point.

As the minutes passed, the Texan found himself more hopeful than he had been through the entire evening. He was strong in the belief that Avon had succeeded in reaching the camp of the cattlemen, and that the latter would soon appear on the scene with an emphasis that would scatter his assailants like so much chaff.

The only vulnerable point for fire was on the roof, but the designs of the Indians had been defeated thus far, and he believed they could be stood off indefinitely, at least until the arrival of the cowboys, who would then take charge of business.

The two matters that gave him anxiety were the presence of the warrior below in the cabin, and the probability of himself being struck by some of the bullets that he expected to come scurrying over the planking every minute.

The two shots that had been fired came alarmingly near, and the next were likely to come still nearer.

But immunity from harm gives one confidence, and only a few more minutes passed when, instead of contenting himself with peering about him, the captain began stealthily creeping toward the part of the eaves where the last Indian had appeared and disappeared so suddenly.

Mindful of the risk of the action, he paused when close to the edge, and waited several minutes before venturing to peep over. The stillness was as if every living person were a hundred miles away. This, however, as he well knew, might be the case with a score of Indians grouped directly beneath.

But having gone thus far, he did not mean to return to his post without accomplishing something. With the greatest possible caution, he raised his head just far enough to look over. He held it in this position only a second or two, for, if any of his enemies were on the alert, they would be sure to observe him.

Nothing greeted his vision, beyond that which he had seen times without number. He did not catch the outlines of a single person or mustang, though convinced they were near at hand.

Had there been any doubt on this point, it would have been dissipated by a repetition of the signals that seemed almost continually passing between the besieging Comanches.

Captain Shirril noticed that the sounds came from the direction of the mesquite bush, as though most of them had gathered there apparently for consultation, and were calling in the other members of their party.

"If that is so, they can't do us much harm," was his conclusion, "but they are not likely to stay there. I suppose they have gathered in Avon and my horses long ago, and we shall have to ride other animals on the tramp to Kansas."

On the whole, the result of his survey was satisfactory; whatever mischief the Comanches were plotting, there was no immediate danger. Minutes were precious, but they were more valuable to the defenders than to the assailants. The cattlemen must arrive soon, and when they did so the siege would be over.

The reconnoissance, if such it may be termed, lasted but a few minutes, when the captain started on his cautious return to the scuttle, in the hope that something in the way of information awaited him there.

To his amazement, he was still within several yards, when he perceived that it was open.

The door was raised fully six inches, the opening being toward him, so that the Comanche had him at his mercy. It looked indeed to the Texan as if his enemy had got the drop on him, and at last he was at his mercy.

The captain whipped out his revolver, but before he could fire a familiar voice called out in a husky undertone:

"Am dat you, captin'? And am you well?"



CHAPTER XIX.

DOWN THE LADDER.

The colored servant Dinah never knew how near she came to being shot by her own master. Had she delayed speaking for a second, he would have discharged two more chambers of his revolver, and the distance was so slight, and her head was in such position, that there could have been no miss.

"Good Heavens!" gasped the captain, "I never dreamed that was you, Dinah."

"But I knowed it war you. How is you gettin' 'long?"

"I'm all right, but where is your mistress?"

"Downsta'rs tending to tings."

"But—but do you know there's an Indian in the house?"

"I reckons so; we didn't know it at fust, but we found it out putty soon after he arrove; why didn't you told us?"

"I tried to do so, but was afraid you wouldn't hear my voice."

"We heerd you say somefin, but couldn't quite make out what it was."

"But what of the Indian?" asked the captain, who was now at the scuttle with his hand on the door.

"He am all right; and if you don't t'ink so, jes' come down and see for you'self."

Dinah stepped out of the way, and her master lost no time in descending through the opening into the dark room below.

"Fasten the door, for there may be more of them trying to enter."

"I doesn't t'ink so," was the confident reply.

Nevertheless, Dinah reached up and fastened the hook in place, making it as secure as before.

"Is your mistress safe?" asked Captain Shirril, the moment he was within the apartment.

"Didn't I jes' tole you she was? Does you t'ink I would try to deceibe you?"

"But tell me how it is; this strikes me as the strangest part of the whole business."

Standing thus, in the stillness and gloom of the upper room, the servant related in her characteristic way the extraordinary experience of herself and mistress with the dusky intruder.

As she had said, the warning which the captain shouted from the roof was heard by them, but the words were not understood.

Mrs. Shirril, however, was keen-witted enough to suspect the truth. The muffled tones showed that her husband was on the roof, while the noise of the body dropping upon the chair proved that someone had entered by that means. That being the case, the stranger of necessity must be a foe, against whose evil intentions they must prepare themselves without delay.

"One of the Indians has dropped through the scuttle," said the startled lady.

"Anoder ob dem warmints has comed into my room, eh?" muttered the angered servant; "I'll sarve him wuss dan the oder one."

"You will not find the task so easy; keep at my side, make no noise, and don't stir till I tell you."

By this time, the embers on the hearth were so low that they gave out only a faint illumination, which extended but a foot or two into the room. The women had kept their places near the door, where, as will be remembered, they noticed a pressure, as if someone was trying to shove it open.

Light-footed as was the Comanche, his weight was too great, and his descent too sudden, for him to keep the knowledge from the women below-stairs. They stepped softly away from the door, and into the denser gloom, where they were unable to see each other, although their persons touched. In this attitude, they could do nothing for a time but listen with rapidly beating hearts.

The dusky intruder dropped so squarely on the chair that it did not overturn. He kept his place, instantly securing the scuttle against the entrance of the white man, whom he had baffled with such cleverness. Probably he had some idea of taking a shot at him, but the little manoeuvring in which he indulged told him the danger was too great, and he gave over the purpose.

The stillness in the room was so profound that the women plainly heard his moccasins touch the floor, when he stepped from the chair. Then he began gliding softly about the apartment, like a burglar who is obliged to feel every inch of his way with hands and feet.

Great as was his care, he had not continued this long, when he struck the chair and overturned it.

"De willian!" muttered Dinah, "and dat's in my abpartment too——"

"Sh!" whispered her mistress, touching her arm, "he can't do any harm, and he must not hear us."

Had Mrs. Shirril given permission, the servant would have hurried up the ladder and taken the fellow to task, without a moment's delay or hesitation.

But the Comanche was better prepared for his work than they suspected. They plainly heard him scratch a match on the wall of the room, and the next moment the faintest possible glow showed through the gloom, above the open door at the head of the ladder. The redskin was taking the only effectual means at his command to learn his bearings.

With the tiny light still burning, he passed quickly from one room to another, his location being easily told by the listeners below. It took him less than a minute to gain the knowledge he wished, when the match burned out and was flung aside.

"I wonder wheder he'll set fiah——"

A sharp pinch on Dinah's arm warned her that she was displeasing her mistress, and she closed her mouth.

The Comanche was too wise to attempt to go down the ladder with a burning match in his hand. Had he done so, he would have committed the fatal error of the citizen who awakes in the night and sets out with lighted lamp to hunt for a burglar: all the advantage is on the side of the law-breaker.

But the Indian had seen the ladder leading from the second story to the lower floor, and the women were sure he would pay them a visit. Indeed, his errand would be futile unless he did so, for it was not to be supposed that he had come into the cabin through simple curiosity.

Mrs. Shirril had no fear of his trying to burn the structure, for, if he did so, his own situation would be as hopeless as theirs. The sounds of firing and the noise on the roof, which soon reached her ears, caused great uneasiness for her husband, but, like a pioneer's wife, she gave her whole attention to the peril that confronted her.

Suddenly the servant touched her arm. She did not speak, but her mistress knew the meaning of the act. The Comanche had placed his foot on the upper round of the ladder and was about to descend to the lower apartments, where they were awaiting him.

"Leave him to me," whispered Mrs. Shirril; "don't stir or do anything."

The cunning warrior knew the women were below, and he knew, too, that unless he used extreme caution, he would find himself in a veritable hornet's nest. The care with which he placed his moccasins on the rounds, and gradually came down, proved this, but the hearing of the women was attuned to so fine an edge that they traced his descent step by step until he stood on the lower floor.

Having arrived there, he paused for a minute or two, as if in doubt what next to do. Evidently he was listening in the hope that the women would betray their presence by some movement, but in this he was mistaken.

During those brief moments, Mrs. Shirril was on the point, more than once, of bringing her rifle to her shoulder and shooting down the wretch who was seeking their lives; but accustomed as she was to the rough experience of the frontier, she could not nerve herself to the point of doing so. She knew the precise spot where he was standing, and, at the first direct approach, she would shoot him as if he was a rabid dog. But so long as he was motionless, she refrained.

What the Comanche would have done at the end of a few minutes it is impossible to say, had not an interruption, as surprising as it was unexpected by all parties, taken place.



CHAPTER XX.

"THE BOYS HAVE ARRIVED!"

The embers on the hearth had smouldered so low that they were mere points of light that served to make the gloom deeper and more expressive. But suddenly a half-burned stick fell apart, and a little twist of flame filled almost the entire room with light.

By its illumination the Indian was seen standing at the foot of the ladder, his rifle grasped in his left hand, his right at his hip, while his body was crouching in the attitude of intense attention, and as if he were on the point of making a leap forward.

He happened to be looking toward the fireplace; but, fortunately for the women, both were gazing straight at him. He glanced to the right and left, and, catching sight of the figures behind him, wheeled like a panther, emitting a hiss of exultation at the knowledge that he had found his victims at last.

But the first dart of his serpent-like eyes showed the white woman, as immovable as a statue, with her rifle levelled at his chest and her delicate forefinger on the trigger.

Mrs. Shirril had the drop on him!

"If you move, I will shoot you dead!" she said in a low voice, in which there was not the first tremor.

Possibly the Comanche did not understand the English tongue, but he could not mistake her meaning. He knew that on the first motion to raise his rifle, draw his knife, or take one step toward the couple, he would be slain where he stood. He, therefore, remained as motionless as she who held him at her mercy.

The tiny twist of flame on the hearth, that had served our friends so well, would soon burn itself out; it was already flickering, and, if left alone, the room would soon be in darkness again, and the situation would undergo a radical change.

"Dinah," said her mistress, without changing her position, or raising her voice, "keep the fire burning!"

"Yes'm, I will," she replied, shuffling hurriedly across the floor to the hearth, where she stooped down. She scorned to turn out of the way of the prisoner, lest he should fancy he was held in fear. She passed him almost close enough to touch, and showed her contempt by shaking her fist at him.

"Oh, you willian! I'd like to wring your neck for comin' into my dispartment without axin' permission."

A strange flicker shot from the eyes of the warrior as they followed her for a moment, but he neither moved nor spoke, his gaze reverting again to his conqueror.

Under the deft manipulation of Dinah's fingers, the flames shot up with more vigor than before. Then, recalling the risk that this involved, Mrs. Shirril told her to come to her side, where she would be out of range of any of their enemies who might be near the windows.

"That will burn for a considerable time," added the lady, referring to the fire the servant had renewed, "so, if you please, you may go to the scuttle and see how the captain is getting along."

"Wouldn't you like to do that, missis?" asked Dinah.

"But I must watch this person."

"I'll do dat."

Her mistress, however, read her meaning in her tones and manner. She was eager to get a chance at the fellow, and, if she did, even for only a few seconds, it would go hard with him.

"No; I will attend to him; do as I told you."

There was no questioning the decision of the little lady, and Dinah, with another threatening gesture at the painted face of the savage, went by him and began climbing the ladder.

"Neber mind," she said to herself, though her mistress overheard the words, "when I come downstairs again, I'll cotch one ob my feet and tumble onto you, and you'll be squashed worser dan if de house tumbled ober your head."

The captive seemed to understand what all this meant. He had escaped thus far, but he might well fear the consequences, after the man aloft put in an appearance.

Dinah had hardly passed out of sight when the Comanche said in a low voice:

"Me go—won't hurt."

Although the intonation of the words was wrong, the woman knew from the glance at the door, which accompanied them, that he meant to ask permission to depart.

"Yes, you can go," was the astonishing answer, and she nodded her head.

The Indian moved hesitatingly at first, in the direction of the entrance, keeping his gleaming eyes on the woman, as if doubtful whether she understood him.

"Go on, be quick," she added reassuringly, though she took care that the old-fashioned weapon was not lowered or turned aside.

The voices of the servant and her master were plainly heard above, and the Comanche saw it was no time for tarrying. A couple more steps took him to the door, and, with little effort, he lifted the huge bolt from its place, pulled open the structure, and whisked out in the darkness, without so much as a "good-night" or "thank you."

The instant he vanished, Mrs. Shirril set down her gun, darted forward, and slipped back the bolt, making the door as secure as before.

It was a strange act on her part thus releasing the red miscreant who was seeking her life, but, after all, it was characteristic of her sex.

She had little more than time to set things to rights, as may be said, when she stepped back and away from the windows, and sat down in the nearest chair. A slight reaction came over her; she felt weak, though she knew it would not amount to anything: she had been through too many perils before.

The feet and lower limbs of Captain Shirril soon appeared on the rounds of the ladder, with Dinah close behind him. In her eagerness to get at the Indian, she stooped forward, so that her big dusky face showed almost over his shoulders. She was just getting ready to fall on the warrior, when she observed that he was gone.

"Whar's dat willian?" she demanded, glancing round the dimly lit room.

"Yes, Edna, I heard you had a guest down here."

"He asked me to let him go, and I thought it was the best way to get rid of him," replied the wife with a smile, for her strength was returning to her.

"Humph!" snorted the disgusted Dinah, as one of her feet came down on the floor with a bang, "I's got my 'pinion of sich foolishness as dat."

"Let me hear how it was, Edna," said the husband, laughing in spite of himself.

She quickly gave the particulars, and he in turn told what he had passed through during his sojourn on the roof.

"The fellow deserved something, but, after all, I find no fault with your action. Much as I am exasperated against these Comanches for their attack, I couldn't help feeling an admiration for this fellow, who got the better of me in the neatest style I ever had it done in all my life."

"Is it not time we heard something from Avon?" asked the wife; "he certainly has been gone more than an hour——"

"Hark!"

The shouts, whoops, and the reports of guns and pistols suddenly broke the stillness on the outside.

Most of the voices bore a familiar sound, and there were a dash and vim about the whole business which left no doubt of its meaning.

In the firelight of the room, husband and wife looked in each other's glowing faces, and instinctively the two uttered the same expression:

"The boys have arrived!"



CHAPTER XXI.

THROUGH THE BUSH.

Oscar Gleeson the cowboy, who appeared at such a timely juncture for Avon Burnet, when he was hard pressed by his Comanche pursuer, took the young man on his mustang behind him, as the reader will recall, and set out for the camp, several miles distant.

Despite the fears of the youth for the safety of his friends in the cabin, the veteran ranchman was more concerned for the fifty-odd cattle that had chosen to stampede themselves, and were at that moment dashing over the prairie for no one could tell where.

But inasmuch as the captain had sent for help, it must be given, regardless of other matters, and the easy swing of the mustang continued until the two arrived at the fire that had been kindled in a small valley, where the provision wagon was stationed with the other animals tethered near, ready for the start that was set for an early hour the next morning.

Most of the men had stretched themselves out in the wagon to sleep, for a hard and arduous campaign was before them, in which they were likely to be compelled to keep their horses for fifteen or twenty hours at a stretch, changing them when necessary and catching snatches of slumber as chance presented.

But the unaccountable stampede of a portion of the herd had roused all, and, at the moment "Ballyhoo," as he was known to his friends, reined up, preparations were under way for a general start after the absent ones.

"Where's Madstone and Shackaye?" asked Gleeson, looking down in the faces of the group, dimly shown in the firelight, and noticing that two of their number were missing.

"They started out for the cattle a little while ago," replied one of the ranchmen, "thinking as how you might not be able to manage them."

"I'd fetched 'em back all right," replied Gleeson, "if it hadn't been for some other business that turned up."

"What's that?"

"The reds are down at the cabin raising the mischief; a lot of 'em got after Baby here, and I had to drop one, and then take him on my hoss and bring him along with me."

"What was he doing out at night on foot?" was the natural query of another of the cowboys.

"Wal, he was putting in the tallest kind of running, when I set eyes on him; if he had kept it up, I don't believe I would have been able to overhaul him myself."

This remark caused several of the grinning ranchmen to turn toward Avon, who had slipped off the horse and laughed as he made answer:

"I got into the worst scrape of my life," he explained, "and it would have gone hard with me if Ballyhoo hadn't turned up just as he did. The reason I was abroad was because Uncle Dohm thought it best I should come to camp after you fellows."

"What's the matter with him?" asked one, who, despite the brief explanation already given, could not understand how it was their leader and his family were in special danger, even if their home was surrounded by Comanches.

"The folks could stand them off for a week, or month, if they had water and provisions, if it wasn't for one thing; the roof of the cabin is as dry as tinder, and the captain knows they intend to set fire to it. If they do, nothing can save the folks, for the building will burn down before we can get there."

This was putting a new face on matters, and the ranchmen realized that more serious work was required of them than rounding up the strayed cattle. Captain Shirril was too brave a man to feel needless alarm, and the fact that he had sent for help was proof that there was urgent need of it.

Two of the party were gone and might not be back for several hours. That, however, was of no account, since, including young Burnet, seven were left, and not one of them would have hesitated, with his companions, to attack a party of Comanches two or three times as numerous as that which had laid siege to the captain's cabin.

These men were fully armed with Winchester, revolvers, and knives, they had no superiors as horsemen, they were accustomed to the rough out-door life, and it may be said that all welcomed the chance of a stirring brush with the red men that had been hovering in their vicinity so long, but who took care to avoid anything in the nature of a fair stand-up fight.

There were horses for all, including Avon Burnet, and, in a very brief space of time, the men were in the saddle and heading toward the home of their leader.

It would be hard to find a company of cowboys or plainsmen whose members are not known by distinctive names, generally based on some personal peculiarity. Thus young Burnet, as we have stated, was nearly always addressed as "Baby," because of his youth. Oscar Gleeson, one of the most skilful and famous cowmen of the Southwest, was addressed as "Ballyhoo," for the reason that, whenever he indulged in a shout or loud call, he used that exclamation.

Hauser Files, the associate of Gleeson, once took part in a game of baseball in San Antonio, during which he received the elusive sphere on the point of his nose. He withdrew in disgust from the amusement, and was always known thereafter as Short Stop.

Gleeson and Files were between thirty and forty years of age, but Ward Burrell, from the lowlands of Arkansas, had rounded his half-century of existence, acquiring during the journey such a peculiar complexion that he was known as Old Bronze. Andy Wynwood, from the same State, was younger. One of his most stirring narratives related to the manner in which he escaped hydrophobia, after being bitten by a rabid wolf. He claimed that the only thing that saved him was the use of a madstone. Whether he was mistaken or not is not for us to say, but there was certainly no mistake about the origin of the name of Madstone, which clung to him forever afterward.

Antonio Nunez, the Mexican, was the "Greaser," Zach Collis from New Mexico, who was also more than fifty years of age, was "Rickety," because of a peculiarity in his gait, while George Garland was "Jersey George," for no other reason than that he was born in the State of New Jersey.

The remaining member of Captain Shirril's party was Shackaye, a Comanche Indian, about a year older than Avon Burnet, concerning whom we shall soon have something to say further.

Captain Shirril was right when he expressed his belief that the arrival of his friends would be in the nature of one of those wild western cyclones, which have grown quite familiar of late in the West and Southwest.

The cowboys swung along at an easy gallop, until near the cabin. They wanted to arrive without giving the Comanches more notice than was inevitable; but, when they knew their approach could be concealed no longer, they drove their spurs into the flanks of their ponies, gave utterance to their wild whoops, and went forward on a dead run.

Before this, the Indians must have suspected that matters were not progressing right. They were aware that one or more white men were in the vicinity, and as a matter of course knew of the Texan camp, only a few miles away. If the cowboys had not learned what was going on from the reports of the guns, they must soon learn it from the whites, who were not only near the building, but who managed to keep out of their clutches.

Not only that, but the red men had already lost several of their best warriors, and having been repeatedly baffled in their attempts to fire the building, were considering a withdrawal, at the moment they were joined by their comrade, who received such unmerited mercy from Mrs. Shirril.

The shouts, firing of guns, and tramp of the horses settled the question off-hand. There was an instant scattering to their own steeds, upon whose backs they vaulted, and then, turning their heads toward the mesquite bush, they sent them flying away at breakneck speed.

But the Texans were not to be disappointed of their entertainment in that style. Catching a glimpse of the scurrying horsemen, they were after them like so many thunderbolts, firing their pistols and rifles, even when there was no chance of hitting anything. There was no time to aim, and they took the chances of so much powder accomplishing something, when burned with ardor and eagerness.

Thus it came about that, within a minute after the arrival of our friends, they were out of sight again in the brush, doing their utmost to teach the marauders a lesson that would keep them forever away from that neighborhood.

"Ballyhoo" fixed his eye on one of the red men, who seemed to be at the rear. He was in fact the very fellow whose life had been spared by Mrs. Shirril. Arriving on the ground at the last moment, he was obliged to run several rods before reaching his horse; but he did it quickly, and, turning his head toward the bush, dashed after his companions and was almost upon their heels.

"You're my game!" exclaimed Gleeson, banging away with his revolver at him, but, so far as he could see, without effect.

The mesquite bush was not vigorous enough to offer much obstruction to the mustangs, though it was much more objectionable than the open plain. The horses could plunge through it, almost as if it were so much tall grass, besides which it gave something of shelter to the Comanches, who were now fleeing for their lives.

Flinging themselves forward on the necks of their steeds, who were as fleet as those of their pursuers, with the brush swaying on all sides, they became such bad targets that only chance or wonderful skill could tumble them to the earth.

Gleeson was so close to the savage he had singled out as his special target, and his own steed coursed so swiftly through the bush, that it looked as if he would down his man. The fugitive was hardly visible, as he stretched forward, not upon his horse's neck, but along the further side and almost under it. About the only part of his person within reach was his foot, the toes of which were curved over the spine of his animal, and his left arm, which clasped the neck from below.

It was useless, therefore, for the Texan to try any sort of aim, and when he discharged his pistol now and then, until the chambers were emptied, it was with the same hope as before, that by accident one of the missiles would reach home.

But this little amusement was not to be entirely on the side of the pursuer. Suddenly there was a flash beneath the neck of the mustang, a resounding report, and the bullet grazed the temple of the enthusiastic cowboy.

"Well done, old fellow," he muttered, shoving his smaller weapon in his holster, and bringing his Winchester round in front; "it makes things more lively when they are not one-sided."

He bent forward, and, sighting as best he could, fired. A whinnying scream rang out in the confusion, and the mustang plunged forward on his knees and rolled over on his side, stone dead because of the bullet that had bored its way through his brain.

Such a mishap would have been fatal to the majority of riders, but the wonderful activity of the Comanche saved him from harm because of the fall of his animal. He struck the ground on his feet, and showed a tremendous burst of speed, as he took up the interrupted flight of his horse, keeping straight on, without darting to the right or left.

"I've got you now," exclaimed the exultant Texan, holding the nose of his animal toward him.

Astonishing as was the fleetness of the Comanche, it could not equal that of the intelligent mustang, that knew what was needed from him. He wanted no guidance from his rider, who was therefore left free to manipulate his Winchester as best he could with the brush whipping about him.

All at once the gun was brought to his shoulder, but, before it was fired, the Indian dropped his head, dodged to one side, and vanished as if by magic.

Where he had gone was a mystery to the Texan, whose steed checked himself so suddenly that the rider was nearly thrown from his saddle.

There was so much noise and confusion that Gleeson could not hear clearly, but something caused him to turn his head, under the impression that he detected a movement near at hand.

He was just in time to catch a glimpse of the Comanche, darting through the bush in a direction almost the opposite of that which he had been following so long.

"How the mischief did you get there?" was the astonished exclamation of the Texan, as he again brought his rifle to a level.

At the moment of doing so, he comprehended how it all came about. The Comanche had darted directly under the mustang, doing so with a quickness and skill that baffled the eye of his foe. Few, even of his own people, could have performed the exploit which he executed with perfection.

Ballyhoo Gleeson lowered his gun.

"You can go! I'll be hanged if you don't deserve to get away after that trick!"



CHAPTER XXII.

THUNDERBOLT.

Avon Burnet knew that when the cattlemen reached a point within a half mile of his home, and the fire had not yet been started, that all danger was over. It was beyond the power of the assailants, with the slight time at their command, to harm the defenders.

Then naturally his thoughts turned to his mustang Thunderbolt, that had been left in the mesquite bush with the animal belonging to his uncle. The chances were that the Comanches had captured both, but he was not without hope regarding his own pony.

The steed was so intelligent that he was certain to resist the approach of a stranger at night, especially if he were an Indian. The redskins were so occupied in trying to encompass the death of the Texan and his family, besides being well supplied with their own steeds, that they were not likely to put forth much effort to capture a single animal.

The youth was as eager as his companions to do his part in driving off the red men, but the chance was denied him. The spare horse which he rode, and which he put to his best pace, could not hold his own with the rest, and consequently he arrived at the rear of the procession.

He glanced right and left, but caught the outlines of but one figure, whose identity he suspected, because he was standing in front of the cabin door.

"Helloa, uncle, is that you?"

"Yes, Avon; I see you have arrived; I hope you suffered no harm."

"Matters were stirring for a time, but I am safe."

At this moment, Mrs. Shirril and Dinah, recognizing the voice, opened the door, the captain inviting them to come outside.

The fire was now burning so briskly on the hearth that the interior was well illuminated, so that their figures were plainly stamped against the yellow background.

"There isn't anything left for you to do," said the captain, "so you may as well dismount."

The firing, shouts, and yells came from a remote point in the bush, and were rapidly receding.

Avon came down from his saddle, kissed his aunt, shook hands with his uncle, and spoke kindly to Dinah, who was proud of the handsome fellow.

"Uncle," said he briskly, "what do you suppose, has become of your horse Jack and Thunderbolt?"

"Taken off by the Comanches, or killed."

"I suppose that is probable, but I shall make a search for them."

Believing this could be done better on foot, he left the pony in charge of his relative and walked hastily into the bush.

"I don't suppose there is much hope, but I have an idea that maybe Thunderbolt has been wounded and needs looking after. The bullets have been flying pretty thickly during the last few minutes, and for that matter," he added, pausing a few seconds to listen, "they are not through yet."

On the edge of the bush he encountered a horseman, whose voice, when hailed, showed that he was "Jersey."

"What's the trouble?" asked Avon, pausing to exchange words with his friend.

"Aint nothing more to do," was the response; "the varmints are travelling faster than this horse can go, though he was one of their animals."

"How was that?"

"I got it in the neck—that is my critter did. I had one of them pretty well pinned, when he fired from under his horse's belly and my pony went down, as dead as a doornail. I came mighty nigh being mashed under him, but I dropped the other chap, for all I couldn't see him when I drew bead. I 'spose it was a chance shot, but the minute he went off his horse got so bewildered he didn't know what to do with himself. While he was trotting about, I catched him, put my bridle on him without trouble, and here I am, Baby."

"Sure he isn't one of ours?" asked Avon, approaching still nearer and looking him over as well as he could in the darkness.

"He is now, but he wasn't fifteen minutes ago."

Knowing that he was not Thunderbolt, the youth was hopeful that it might prove Jack; but it took only a minute to learn that Jersey was right. The steed had been brought to the spot by one of the Comanches and was a fine animal, though so much time passed before the Texan secured him that he was simply prudent in not trying to follow after the red men, who were far beyond reach.

Jersey laughed when Avon told him his errand, but said he would not be much surprised if he was successful, for the reasons which have been already stated.

There had been hot work in the bush, for when the cattlemen charged the Comanches, they did so with all the vigor of their nature. These Indians were among the most persistent thieves in Texas, and, as the reader knows, the man who attempts to run off another's cattle or horses commits a more flagrant crime in that section of our Union than he does when he seeks the owners' lives.

Avon bore to the left, leaving the principal theatre of the scrimmage, and had not reached the border of the mesquite when he almost stumbled over a fine horse that lay on its side, without a particle of life.

"I wonder whether that is Thunderbolt," he said, with a feeling of dread, as he bent over to examine the body.

Drawing a rubber safe from his pocket, he struck a match, and by the tiny flame looked at the head and side of the dead steed.

One scrutinizing glance was enough; the body was not that of his own favorite, but of Jack, belonging to his uncle.

"Poor Jack!" murmured the youth with a thrill of sympathy, "you have been on many a stirring campaign, but you will go on no more. I wonder how it was you met your death."

It looked as if the mustang had been stricken by a stray shot, that may have been fired by a friend, for it was not to be supposed that a Comanche would have killed him purposely, when he would have been a valuable prize.

The bridle and saddle were in the cabin, so that the owner had simply lost one of his horses, his supply of extra ones being sufficient to replace him without trouble.

"I am afraid there is little chance of finding Thunderbolt alive," added the youth, as he resumed his search.

He made his way through the bush with the utmost care, for, although the Indians had been sharply repulsed, he was aware of the custom of those people, when any of their number are killed or wounded. The survivors put forth every exertion to take them away with them, having the horror of their race against any falling into the hands of their enemies. It was more than likely that when the sun rose not a body would be anywhere in sight. Even the warrior who had run him so hard, only to succumb to the rifle of Ballyhoo Gleeson, would not be forgotten by his former comrades.

Advancing with the utmost caution, he heard a rustling in the bush in front. Quite sure that it was caused by his enemies, he stood a minute or two listening, uncertain whether to advance or withdraw. But he found the parties were receding, and he ventured to steal forward in order to gain a closer sight of them.

A short walk took him to the edge of the mesquite, where the additional light offered a partial view of a strange scene.

Two able-bodied warriors were supporting a third between them. The wounded one was able to walk slowly with help, but it was apparent that he was badly hurt, for he leaned heavily upon his support, who stopped at intervals to give him rest.

Finally the party halted, and one of them emitted a tremulous but sharp whistle. The signal was for a couple of their own horses, which loomed to sight in the gloom, as they advanced in obedience to the command.

Fearful of being discovered, if he left the bush, Avon kept in the shadow and watched the party. His view was indistinct, but it was easy to see that the two warriors were lifting their wounded companion upon the back of one of the mustangs. When this was done a Comanche took his seat behind him, so as to hold him in place by passing an arm around his waist. Those people had no need of saddles, their accoutrement consisting of the single thong fastened around the head of the animal, and by which he could be guided at the will of his master. Indeed, many of the Comanches ride without any such aid at all, their intelligent animals being obedient to their voices, and seeming to comprehend their wishes as if by intuition.

Soon after the mustangs and their riders faded from view in the gloom, the horses on a moderate walk. They would have proven easy victims to a couple of the cattlemen, had they appeared at this moment, but, much as the fiery ranchmen despised and hated this tribe, it may be doubted whether there was one of their number who would have taken advantage of such an opportunity.

The Texans were ready to fight at all times, but there is a chivalry in their composition which prevents their taking an unfair advantage of a foe. They would have allowed the trio to ride away unmolested, which is just what the Comanches would not have done, had their situations been reversed.

Avon Burnet was considering whether it was worth while to push his search further, when, to his surprise, an exclamation broke upon his ear, in the form of a vigorous "Oofh!" as nearly as it can be put in letters.

He knew it came from the lips of an Indian, who was not far off, though in a different direction from that taken by the warriors and their wounded comrade. It was more to the south, though the penetrating glance he cast in that direction failed to reveal the individual.

But it was heard again, and now, when he looked, he was able to catch the dim outlines of a horse, walking slowly toward him.

"What's the matter with the Comanches to-night?" the puzzled youth asked himself; "they seem to be up to all manner of tricks."

As the horseman gradually became more distinct, he saw that the rider was in an odd quandary. He was striving to turn the animal in the opposite direction, but he would not obey. He flung up his head, sometimes reared angrily, and, though he maintained a walk, kept pushing straight on toward the bush, despite the savage attempts of the rider to make him wheel about.

A suspicion flashed through the mind of Avon. The man was an Indian beyond question, and the horse could not be his own, for, if it were, he would have obeyed him without urging. It must be one of the Texan horses that he was trying to steal.

The youth uttered the familiar signal by which he was able at all times to bring Thunderbolt to his side, when he was within hearing. The mustang replied with a glad whinny, and broke into a trot straight for his master. It was indeed his prized animal, with a Comanche warrior on his back.



CHAPTER XXIII.

"GOOD-BY!"

The Comanche must have been disgusted. He had been trying for some time to steal the mustang of Avon Burnet, with the result that the pony was about to steal him, unless he prevented it offhand.

The Indian heard the whistle from the edge of the bush, and the instant increase of speed, on the part of the stubborn mustang, made the meaning clear to him. He did not know but that three or four Texans were waiting in the mesquite, and that, if he stayed on the back of the steed a minute longer, he would be carried directly into their arms.

Consequently he did not hesitate. He went off of Thunderbolt, as if struck by a cannon ball, and, heading out on the prairie, ran with might and main, quickly disappearing in the darkness, and was seen no more.

"Ah, my own Thunderbolt!" exclaimed the delighted Avon, patting the nose of his beast, who was as happy as he at being restored to his young master; "I thought I would never see you again, but here you are."

He sprang upon the bare back, and the pony started through the bush for the cabin.

Arriving there, matters were found in a satisfactory shape. Ballyhoo Gleeson was the only cowboy that had remained behind with Captain Shirril. The rest had started to look after the cattle. It has been shown that a number had been stampeded, and since all care was necessarily withdrawn from the others, they were likely to follow suit. Then, too, it was probable that the Comanches would see their chance of securing some of the herd, and would make the attempt despite the rough handling they had received.