Nothing could have attested more strikingly the fact that our friends were accustomed to their wild, dangerous life, than the manner in which they now acted. A half hour before, the little family within the cabin considered themselves in such imminent peril of being burned to death that they allowed young Burnet to run the greatest risk to secure help, before it was too late.

But now Captain Shirril and Ballyhoo Gleeson sat before the fire, that was burning brightly, smoking their pipes, and talking as though the occurrence was of the most ordinary nature. The ranchman had made sure of his supply of tobacco, and intended to ride back to camp, after spending an hour or so within the house.

Everyone had eaten supper before the lively incidents opened, and Mrs. Shirril now resumed her sitting in front of the fire, occasionally taking part in the words of her husband and guests. Dinah was heard muttering angrily to herself upstairs, as she investigated the damages done by the visitor in her apartment.

Avon, on his return, told his uncle about his horse, explaining that he was fortunate enough to recover Thunderbolt.

"You were luckier than I supposed you would be," said the captain, as his nephew drew up his chair near them.

"Do you think," asked the wife, "that the Comanches will trouble us further, husband?"

"There is no danger," he replied, calmly puffing his pipe; "is there, Ballyhoo?"

"None at all," was the calm response.

"I thought perhaps that because they had suffered so severely, they would come back to revenge themselves," ventured the little woman, still busily plying her needle.

"But you see the damage was done, not by you and Dinah, though you did your part, but by the men, and them's the ones they'll go for," observed Ballyhoo.

"That is not the invariable rule with Indians," was the truthful remark of Mrs. Shirril. "It makes little difference to them whether the innocent or guilty suffer."

"But," said the husband, "the prime object of the redskins is cattle, with perhaps horses thrown in. You know they have been hanging round for a number of days, waiting for a chance before we started north; they will make an effort to run off those stampeded cattle to-night, and likely enough will follow us into the Indian Nation, on the watch for a chance to gather in several hundred hoofs."

"I think there's one thing that's encouraging," said Avon, addressing all his friends; "you know how dry the roof of the house is. If Dinah hadn't put her foot down when she did, there would have been no cabin at this moment. The Comanches tried to fire the sides, and failing in that, gave their attention to the roof, where they came so near succeeding."

"What do you refer to as encouraging, Avon?" asked his uncle.

"There's a storm in the air; we are going to have a regular driving rain, that will soak the roof until a ton of live-coals on the top wouldn't set fire to the planking."

"Baby is right," said Ballyhoo, with a nod of his head; "rain will fall within twelve hours."

"That is good news," said the wife, with a pleased look; "I shall now see the captain and the rest of you leave without a misgiving as concerns ourselves."

"You wouldn't feel frightened, Edna, if old Wygwind and his gang of imps should come whooping down upon you?" asked the captain, looking sideways, with an expression of admiration and love glowing from his shaggy face.

"I don't pretend to say we would not be frightened, but Dinah and I would feel secure inside, so long as there was no danger of the building being burned. I wonder whether Wygwind led this party."

"I shouldn't be surprised if he did; he's one of the worst scamps that ever lived."

"You're right," assented Ballyhoo. "I believe he led this gang, though a chap couldn't tell in the darkness. You know what a thief he is."

The allusion was to the notorious Comanche Wygwind, one of the many leaders belonging to that tribe. He was a powerful, wiry Indian, in middle life, who had long been detested by the ranchmen for his thievish and brutal propensities. He had stolen hundreds of cattle, not to mention horses, and though often pursued, and driven more than once into dangerous quarters, he had managed in some way to pull through to the present time.

"If he should get inside," said the captain slyly, "and you should get the drop on him, wife, I advise that you don't let him walk out of the door unharmed."

"That depends on circumstances," quietly replied his better half; "if he should appeal to me, and he had done no particular harm, I could hardly refuse him. However, I don't think if he does enter it will be through the scuttle."

"The next time it will be best to turn him over to the mercies of Dinah."

"I am afraid it will go ill with him if I do. I heard her say to herself, when she went upstairs after you, that, on the return trip, she meant to fall from the round of the ladder upon him: the result would have been frightful."

"Yes; that red man doesn't know all that he escaped."

The mutterings of Dinah were still audible overhead, and she was seen the next minute, descending the primitive stairs.

The little party smiled, and the captain turned toward her.

"Well, Dinah, you didn't find much damage done in your room, did you?"

"Humph! 'cause de warmint didn't hab time. I only wish I had a chance to wrung his neck."

"No doubt you would have done it, but I think we all have cause for gratitude that things turned out as well as they did."

"I guess you didn't notice dat big hole dey come nigh burning frough de roof, did you?"

"Oh, yes; I saw it; it would have been much worse but for you; I hope the fire didn't injure your shoe."

She turned her foot and looked at the broad sole of the heavy shoe, as though the thought had not occurred to her before.

"It am scorchified a little," she said.

"Never mind," remarked Ballyhoo gravely; "I'll give out a contract for a new pair for you, when we get into Kansas, and send a couple of the boys back with them, if they don't prove too big a load."

"I consider such remarks as onnecessary and slightsome," replied Dinah, with a scornful toss of her head; "I wore number 'lebens, which am just a lady's size; I reckons you can't do much better dan dat."

"If my feet keep on growing for a few years, I may get there in time, but you shall have the shoes, Dinah, if the right size can be bought in any of the big establishments."

"T'ank you," replied the African, who thought it best not to repel the offer of her friend; "dese am gettin' wored consid'ble, and by de time you got back, I'll need anoder pair."

The evening was advancing. In answer to Ballyhoo's inquiries, Captain Shirril looked at his watch, and said that it was nearly eleven o'clock.

"I must be off," remarked the tall ranchman, rising to his feet; "we make an early start, and I don't know how the boys have made out with the cattle; they may need my help."

"I may as well go with you," said Avon, looking inquiringly at his uncle; "for there is to be no more work here."

"It will be just as well," replied the captain.

The youth took his saddle and accoutrements from the corner, where they had been lying, and stepping outside, adjusted them upon Thunderbolt, who whinnied with pleasure at the promise of carrying his loved owner on his back indefinitely. The two had become attached by their companionship on the hunt and ranch, and the delight of the youth on recovering his mustang was beyond expression.

While he was busy at this brief task, the members of the little family kept their feet, discussing matters in which each was interested.

"Well, I'm ready, Ballyhoo," called Avon, in his cheery voice, stepping quickly through the open door.

He placed one arm around the neck of his aunt and kissed her affectionately, shook hands with Dinah, adding as he crossed palms with his uncle:

"I expect to see you again, soon. Keep up a good heart, auntie, while we are gone, which I don't think will be for long. Good-by, all!"

He put his foot in the stirrup, swung himself into the saddle, at the same moment that his companion did the same, and the couple headed their animals to the northward.

Captain Shirril and the women remained in the door, looking forth in the darkness, and listening until the sounds of the hoofs died out in the distance. Then the Texan led the way inside, adjusting the bar in place so that no one could enter without permission.

The extra horse which Avon had ridden to the cabin was turned loose in the bush, to be recovered and used by the captain when he wished to ride to the camp. Ballyhoo had removed the saddle and bridle, which lay in the corner where Avon's had awaited him.

The Texan stood a minute, looking around the room, as if trying to recall any forgotten duty, but thought of none.

"It is later than I suspected," said he, addressing his wife and consulting his watch again; "and we may as well retire."

He lighted a common tallow candle, and with that in his hand, led the way up the ladder, followed by the others. Fifteen minutes later, everyone was sleeping as soundly as though the evening had not been disturbed by any unusual incident.



CHAPTER XXIV.

A STRANGE DELAY.

Meanwhile Avon Burnet and Gleeson continued riding northward at an easy gallop, their eyes and ears on the alert for sounds of their friends or enemies.

"Do you remember this spot?" asked the elder, drawing his mustang down to a walk, after going some distance.

The youth looked keenly round in the gloom, but saw only the level plain, similar to that over which they had ridden since leaving the cabin. A dark object on the ground caused him to force his pony toward it.

"That must be one of our cattle," he said inquiringly.

"It's what is left of him; that's the steer that the Comanche brought down when he took a shot at you."

"Ah, this is the place where you joined me?"

"Percisely."

"But where is he—that is, his body?"

"They've took it off; you know how hard the Comanches try to carry away their dead and wounded."

"I saw a proof of that while hunting for Thunderbolt, but I didn't think they would be able to find this one."

"They must have heard the shot and his cry, and though we made things hum about them, they took time to look into it and bear the body away."

"I wonder now whether that could have been Wygwind," said Avon, referring to the notorious leader of whom we have spoken.

"No," was the decisive reply of Ballyhoo.

"Why not?"

"He is a powerful brave Injin, but plenty of his warriors can outrun him. This one was too good on his feet to be him."

The couple gave their horses rein again, and they broke into a gallop which carried them swiftly toward their destination. The glimmer of the camp-fire was discerned when they rode to the top of the next moderate elevation.

"Hark!" exclaimed Ballyhoo, abruptly checking his pony.

His companion did the same, for he had caught the sound, which was that made by many hoofs.

"The confounded beasts are still at it," added the elder, allowing his steed to resume his walk.

"The boys may be driving them back to camp."

"No; it doesn't sound right."

"Do you imagine the Comanches are taking any hand in this?"

"It doesn't strike me so, but there's no saying what those varmints will do; they're so fond of stealing that they'll run great risks."

However, since the couple were able to locate the running animals, they felt it their duty to bear a hand in helping to bring them back to camp. There was danger that if they were not speedily brought under control, the start could not be made on time.

"Come on, Baby," called Gleeson, wheeling his animal to the right, and sending him off at a dead run.

Thunderbolt knew what was expected of him, and without waiting for orders, stretched away in the same direction, with the old thrill stirring his rider at the prospect of exciting work at hand.

It was not long before they caught sight of the frightened animals, going as if a legion of wolves were at their heels. They were running from camp, and, unless their course could be changed, would be far from it before daylight.

In fact their presence so comparatively near proved that they were either another part of the main herd, or if the ones first stampeded, had broken off again, after being well on their way to their regular pasturing grounds.

"Look out! they may be Comanches!" called Ballyhoo to his youthful companion. "No, they are not either."

The last remark was caused by the sight of two of their friends riding like mad, shouting and swinging their whips, which they had brought from camp. They were Madstone and Rickety, who were doing all they knew how to check the animals that seemingly would not be checked or turned aside.

It looked as if Ballyhoo and Avon must be trampled to death, for they were directly in front of the rushing herd, but they swung their arms, holding each his rifle aloft, and shouted loud enough to be heard miles distant.

The mustangs were a little nervous, but were used to such experiences, and they did not catch the contagion. They held their ground, though it was manifest they would have preferred to be somewhere else.

Suddenly, when the terrified beasts were almost upon them, they swerved to one side. The change of direction was slight, but it was important as a beginning. The cowboys were quick to take advantage of it, and redoubled their shoutings and gesticulations. The cattle trended further and further from the course they had been following, and ere long were headed toward the camp.

They were now on the run and the four men kept them there, determined that they should not get away again.

Madstone explained that they were the ones that took fright earlier in the evening, and were on a dead run, when Ballyhoo shot down the Comanche that was pursuing Avon Burnet. The cattle had drifted a considerable way, but they were soon brought under control and headed in the right direction.

All was going well, when off they went again at a more frantic rate than before. The cowboys were at loss to understand what caused the new outbreak, when, to their amazement, three Comanches appeared in their front.

The dusky scamps did their best to run them off, but it was evident they were afraid of the Texans, who made a dash for them, whereupon they disappeared.

But they had turned the cattle in a new direction, and the Texans had all their work to do over again. There was little prospect of success, until Ballyhoo and Avon added their efforts, when matters assumed a better shape.

But the trouble was by no means over. If these animals should plunge into the main herd at the rate they were now going, they were sure to spread the panic, with the probability that the whole two thousand would soon be on the run, and the difficulty of the ranchmen intensified ten-fold.

Accordingly, as the ground was approached, the four horsemen resorted to the well-known practice of what may be called rounding-up. They galloped back and forth, on the outer edge of the herd, and here and there, circumnavigating them continually and as fast as the fleetness of their mustangs would permit.

By this means they finally succeeded in turning the heads of the cattle toward each other, and they were crowded into a compact mass, whose members were obliged to stand still, since they were huddled in one heap, with the yelling cowboys careering back and forth, around the circumference.

This was not accomplished a moment too soon, for they were close upon the main herd, which showed a restlessness that might have broken forth into another stampede, but for the skill of the other cowboys who had them in charge.

When the reunion of the Texans took place near the camp-fire, and there was a general talk over the incidents of the evening, the arrangements were made for the night. All had been so actively engaged that rest would have been acceptable, but there was not one who would have murmured, had he been ordered to take his position and hold it for hours.

Indeed Avon Burnet volunteered to do his part in looking after the cattle that it was necessary to keep under watch through the darkness.

"No," replied Ballyhoo, "I've fixed it. You and me will take a hand to-morrow night, when we're likely to find it a blamed sight more unpleasant than now."

"And why so?"

"That storm that we've been talking about is holding off, as though it finds it hard to make up its mind to come, but it will be here within twenty hours or less."

"I am glad of it," remarked the youth, thinking of his friends in the distant cabin, which had escaped burning by such a narrow chance.

It was now past midnight, and those who were to be off duty did not squander the precious hours; but, crawling into the covered wagon, bundled themselves up and slept the sleep which waits on rugged health.

At the earliest streakings of light the camp was astir. The man who served the party as cook had no light task on his hands. He generally carried a lot of wood in the wagon with him, for the reason that it was not always easy to obtain, and, by doing this, he was sure of always having enough dry fuel to burn readily when wanted.

Those Texans were satisfied at times to go without anything at all in the way of food, or to snatch a bite by checking their mustangs long enough to allow them to receive it, when they were off again; but whenever the opportunity for a "square meal" presented itself, they proved themselves full hands.

Gleeson, who acted as master during the absence of Captain Shirril, mounted his horse and rode out to inspect the herd. He was relieved to find them all in place. Most of them were lying down, drowsily chewing their cuds, but a few had risen and were cropping the grass, which grew quite abundantly in the neighborhood.

While employed in this duty, Ballyhoo cast frequent looks in the direction of Captain Shirril's home. He expected to see their leader before it was light, but the sun was already showing in the horizon and he was not in sight.

The Texan galloped to the top of the adjoining elevation, from which he could see the low flat building in the distance. Shading his eyes with his hand, he peered long and earnestly, but without catching sight of a horseman galloping toward him.

"It's very odd," thought Gleeson, "that he doesn't show up; something must have taken place. I wonder if those varmints have come back after Baby and I left last night."

It seemed impossible that anything like this should have occurred, but it was beyond his power to explain the non-appearance of the "boss" on any other theory. He was prompt and energetic, and was more likely to be ahead than behind the time he set for his own appearance at a particular place.

Without giving expression to his fears, he joined the group at the wagon and partook of his breakfast, washing down his food with a cup of delicious steaming coffee. He avoided Avon for a time, because he plainly saw the young man was disturbed; but, when the meal was finished, the remarks became general over the absence of Captain Shirril.

"I've just come from the top of the swell," said Madstone, who had been there since Ballyhoo, "and can't see anything of him. I 'spose he has overslept himself, because of the flurry last night."

"I wish I could believe it is nothing worse," said Avon, walking thoughtfully out to where his mustang stood saddled and bridled.

"Why, what else could it be, Baby?" asked Ballyhoo, repressing his own uneasiness.

"That's just what I want to find out; I tell you, I don't think we ought to stay here, when it's pretty sure something is wrong at the house; if the Comanches are going to keep this up, it will never do to leave the women alone; I shall have to go back and stay with them."

"I can't believe it's that, but we shall soon know."

He sprang into the saddle, and the two rode to the elevation which has already been referred to several times.

"I will wait here," said the elder, checking his animals, "while you ride on to the cabin."

Avon looked inquiringly at him.

"Don't you think it best you should go with me?"

"No; I will keep you under my eye all the way; if you see anything out of gear, you need only to signal, and I will fetch two or three of the boys with me."

It struck the youth as strange that Ballyhoo should stop after starting for the dwelling. The young man had made up his mind there was something wrong there, and it seemed to him like a waste of time for his friend to hold back.

However, he said nothing further in the way of protest, but, speaking briskly to Thunderbolt, sent him off at headlong speed toward the cabin.

"I am afraid this knocks all my plans to smithereens," he said to himself; "for if there is the least danger of the Comanches putting in their appearance again, it would never do for me to leave home. It is bad enough for uncle to go, but there is no help in his case, while there is in mine."

As he drew near the dwelling his feelings intensified, and all other thoughts went from him.

"I don't see a sign of a living person," he added, slowing the gait of his steed; "suppose the Comanches made a descent upon them in the night and managed to secure entrance—well, by gracious!"



CHAPTER XXV.

HEADING NORTHWARD.

Avon Burnet's misgiving increased as he drew near the cabin of his uncle, for the unwonted stillness was impressive to the last degree. The only sign of life which caught his eye was the horse cropping the grass near the mesquite bush.

It seemed dangerous to do as he did, but in his anxiety he sprang to the ground and walked hastily to the front of the dwelling. Observing the latch-string out, he gave it a sharp twitch and the door swung open.

Dinah confronted him with a look of surprise, and just beyond her, he saw his aunt preparing the morning meal.

"Why, Avon, you are frightened," said she with a smile.

"So I am; where's uncle?"

"He will be down in a minute; when I awoke, I saw he was asleep, and I concluded not to awake him. You know he had a hard time yesterday and last night, and I took the responsibility of not calling him. The poor man needs rest and it won't hurt you folks to wait a while."

The youth dropped into a chair and laughed.

"Well, now, that beats everything! We were worried half to death, and feared something dreadful had happened."

"Nothing of the kind; we haven't been disturbed since you and Gleeson went away. If we had, the captain would have been awake."

The gentleman referred to was heard moving about overhead, and a few minutes later put in an appearance. He scolded his wife in a good-natured way for her well-meant kindness, and adding that no harm had been done, sat down to his morning meal.

The preliminaries were quickly finished, the good-by said, and leaping into his saddle, the captain joined his nephew in a smart gallop northward to camp, where they joined their anxious friends.

And so what promised to furnish a stirring sensation proved nothing at all. It was rare that the Texan allowed his weariness to get the better of him, but it had done so in this case, and none laughed more heartily over it than he.

A brief investigation showed everything to be in readiness, and the sun was not far above the horizon when the start on the long journey northward was made.

The cattle seemed to have recovered from the restlessness of the night before, and were as tractable as could be desired. They moved forward at a moderate pace, having browsed so fully on the succulent grass that it was easy to keep them going, until nearly the middle of the day. At this time a halt was made for an hour, during which the cattle spread out on the sides of the well-marked trail, and ate as though they had not partaken of food for days.

Shortly after resuming the journey a small stream was reached, which was easily forded, there being no portion where it was necessary for the beasts to swim. All drank heartily, and, upon climbing the sloping bank on the other side, another herd was observed several miles to the east.

"They haven't got as many as we," remarked the captain to Gleeson, who was riding by his side; "and I hope we shall keep far enough apart to prevent our cattle mixing."

"He's off the trail," replied Ballyhoo, "but will come into it before long."

"If we keep moving briskly, he must strike it behind us."

It soon became evident that the other cattlemen were trying to force their herd to a point on the trail ahead of the larger drove, which was strung along for many yards. Since they were about equally far north, the struggle was an interesting one for some time; but the action of the smaller collection of cattle showed they were not as manageable as the larger one, and, before the close of day, they gave over the struggle and dropped back so far that, when they struck the trail, they were fully a mile to the rear.

The promised storm still hung off, though the sky was cold and lowering, and toward night a misty rain began falling. It did not become severe at any time, but it added to the dismal gloom. The wind blew in gusts, much the same as on the previous evening, and the temperature fell until, had the cowmen been less accustomed to exposure, they would have suffered more than their animals.

Our friends did not forget to keep a lookout for the Comanches, who were likely to show themselves, whenever a chance presented itself for a raid upon the herd.

If they had been too roughly handled to venture upon anything of the kind, there were plenty of others to take their places, if only the temptation was strong enough.

The misty rain shortened the view in every direction, but the horsemen who dashed hither and thither, when the cattle showed a disposition to stray off, reported no signs of their old enemies, who, however, might be keeping out of sight until darkness should settle over the earth.

Prudence required that the cattle should be treated considerately, especially at the beginning of the long journey, for it was to the interests of the owners that they should arrive at their destination in good condition. Like men in training for a pedestrian contest, particular care was needed at the start to prevent a general breakdown. After a few days the beasts, if well used, would be able to stand much more.

It, therefore, lacked considerable of night when the final halt was made, and the cattle were allowed to crop the grass until they became sated and chose to lie down.

The men in charge of the other herd were equally thoughtful, for they came to a pause about the same time, with nearly a mile separating the camps. It was hardly dark, indeed, when a horseman was seen approaching from the southward, on an easy gallop, and there was no doubt that he belonged to the other party.

"It's my old friend Sclevinger," said Captain Shirril, recognizing the visitor, as he saluted, and, checking his steed beside that of the old Texan, extended his hand, with the heartiest of salutations.

"I suspected it was you," said the new arrival, whose pleasant countenance was covered by as shaggy a growth as that of the captain, "and I concluded I would run over and shake hands."

"That's right, pard. I'm mighty glad to see you; you must take supper with us."

"Thank you, I guess I will," replied Sclevinger, dismounting and accepting the invitation as readily as it was given; "I tried to run in my herd ahead of you this afternoon," he added, with a twinkle of his fine eyes, "but I couldn't quite make it."

"We saw what you were up to, and we had to bestir ourselves to head you off. How many have you, colonel?"

"Only about twelve hundred—that is, I had twelve hundred, when I started from the ranch two days ago, but we lost nearly a hundred yesterday."

"How was that?" asked the captain, as they reached the provision wagon, and paused while the cook made their meal ready.

"A confounded lot of Comanches cut out some of our cattle, and, despite all we could do, got off with them."

"They have been hanging round us, but didn't do anything. Seems to me, colonel, you shouldn't have allowed that."

"That's what makes me so mad," was the bluff response of the guest. "It was just after crossing the creek to the southwest, which doesn't lie in your way. A lot of the beasts took fright at something, and away they went on a bee line for Arizona. I thought a couple of the boys would be able to bring them back, and I sent them off, while the other four looked after the main herd. Thank you," said the colonel, as he took the hot coffee from the hand of his host.

"Well, I judge from what you said, they didn't bring back the hoofs," observed the captain, interested in the narrative of his friend.

"No, by George, it was worse than that. Three or four hours after the stampede, one of the men came in sight, riding like mad. There were no cattle with him, and he was alone. I saw that one of his hands was bleeding badly, and he had a woful story to tell. He said he and the other fellow were working like the mischief to turn the animals back, and had almost succeeded, when the first they knew a dozen whooping Comanches were right upon them.

"It was bang, bang, shoot, cut, yell, and whoop her up again, with no thought of doing anything but save themselves. The other chap fought like a Trojan, but his horse was killed and he went down with half the fiends on him, fighting as long as the breath remained in his body.

"The one who came back with the news was pretty badly cut up and had the closest kind of a call, but his horse was better than any of the others and he managed to escape."

"Of course it was idle to think of getting your cattle after that," remarked the captain.

"I was so infuriated that I gathered the rest of the men, intending to take the trail, but by the time I was ready, I became cooler, and saw it would never do. Haven't you been troubled with the redskins?"

"Not in the manner that you have, but they stirred things up for us last night."

Thereupon, Captain Shirril gave an account of his own experience in his cabin. His friend listened attentively to his story, for it was interesting. He remarked, at its conclusion, that the Indians had been more troublesome that spring than he had ever known them. Twice, within the preceding month, they attempted to steal a number of his cattle, but failed in each instance, with the loss of several of their warriors.

"And in my opinion we are likely to have more trouble before we get through the Indian country," added the colonel.

"I think so, too; it will be well for us to get not too far from each other, for we ought to be in shape to give mutual support."

"Of course; there must be other droves on the march, and we ought to get a twist on them that will make them squeal."

The supper being finished, the two leading cattlemen sat down under the shelter of the covered wagon and smoked their pipes. They had been old army officers, though Colonel Sclevinger fought on the Union side in the war. The singular feature (and yet it was not so singular either), was that they had come in contact more than once during that period. It fell to the lot of the colonel to take the captain prisoner. He treated the brave Texan with so much consideration that a strong friendship was formed, which remained uninterrupted to the present time.

It was by Captain Shirril's invitation that Colonel Sclevinger came to Texas on the return of peace. The Northern man felt an interest in the ranch business, but followed the counsel of the Texan, who warned him against going blindly into it. He took pains to give him points, and, when the proper time arrived, helped him to that extent that the gentleman avoided the disastrous blunders committed by those who fancy the ranch business offers a straight avenue to wealth, without any preliminary training in its many difficulties.

Enough has been told to explain the friendship between the two men. The colonel intended to make only a brief call, but he so enjoyed the company of his old friend that he sat a long time in the wagon, smoking and exchanging reminiscences of the war times, which theme must ever be deeply entertaining to those who were actors in that tremendous epoch of our nation's history.

Finally the visitor bade his friend good-night, and, mounting his horse, galloped off in the night.

Avon Burnet had listened to a part of the conversation, for he was always interested in what this occasional visitor to their cabin had to say, but he could not remain as long as he wished. It was arranged that he should assume his place in helping to watch the herd, Ballyhoo Gleeson being one of those sharing the duty with him.

So it was that the youth rode out in the dismal rainy night to make a "full hand" at the calling of a cattleman.



CHAPTER XXVI.

A SHOT FROM THE DARKNESS.

It was singular that Avon Burnet's most humiliating experience overtook him on his first night in helping to watch his uncle's herd of cattle, while following the Great Cattle Trail toward Kansas.

The starting point was so far north in Texas that the first day carried them close to the Indian Nation, through whose territory they expected to tramp for several days.

The night, as has been explained, was raw, with a fine, misty rain and a cutting wind. The youth was seated on his fleet-footed and intelligent Thunderbolt, with his back to the wind, after the fashion not only of all cowboys, under such circumstances, but of the animals themselves, who sometimes drift many miles before a driving storm.

He had his thick army blanket gathered about his body and shoulders, and, though the night was dismal and his situation far from pleasant, it still lacked the discomfort of many hours spent on the vast plains of the Lone Star State.

The young man had held his position for less than an hour when the wind changed, veering completely around, so that, instead of being in front of the herd and edging gradually from it, he was thrown behind the cattle, for they immediately faced about and began moving away from him.

The situation of the young herdsman became a delicate one at once. His proper place was in front, and to reach that point, he must ride around the animals, and not among them. One of the many singular features of herding and driving cattle is the wonderful sensitiveness shown at times by them. While there is nothing extraordinary in the wild panic often created by a thunderstorm, there are occasions when a whole herd is stampeded by a cause too trifling to be understood.

Our experience leads us to agree with many veteran cowboys that the cattle, when lying on the ground asleep, are sometimes troubled with bad dreams which cause such fright on their part that their excitement becomes contagious. Then again the electrical conditions produce a morbid uneasiness among them as well as among men, and there seem to be times when they are simply awaiting a pretext for dashing off in uncontrollable panic.

Avon Burnet's fear was that if he rode directly after the cattle, the sound of his mustang's hoofs would cause alarm, since it was too dark for them to identify him. A stampede is the terror of the cowmen's life, and no labor or trouble is too great to avert it. He, therefore, checked Thunderbolt and waited a few minutes until the cattle were so far off that he could wheel and gallop around their flank without frightening them.

When he thought sufficient time had elapsed, he decided to wait a brief while longer. His dread of a stampede was so strong that he was unusually careful, but with no thought of shirking any duty, he twitched the reins of his horse, spoke sharply, and without touch of spur, was off like an arrow.

Although not an animal was visible, the rider had the contour of the herd so vividly impressed on his mind that he felt no misgiving, when he began edging his steed more to the left, and finally brought him to a stand-still, as he believed, at the very front of the collection. Indeed, his confidence would not have been greater had the sun been shining.

But when he halted and listened he failed to hear anything of them.

"I must have ridden too far ahead," was his conclusion, as he started his horse on a walk to meet them; "but they are surely near by."

Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed, and then he drew rein with an exclamation of amazement, for his keen sense of hearing did not catch the first sound of the cattle.

"I have lost the herd!" he muttered in dismay, and such was the fact. His cheeks burned with chagrin at the consciousness of what at first thought seems an impossible error on the part of man or youth with any experience in attending cattle.

It was Avon's first mishap of the kind, and he felt as though he could never face his comrades again, if they should discover the blunder, which, after all, was not so striking, when the attendant circumstances are borne in mind.

But if excuse could be accepted for his slip, there was none for inaction after its discovery. It was not to be supposed that the animals would set out to hunt him, nor that any knowledge could be gained of them by idleness. There were other men on duty, and he shouted at the top of his voice, in the hope of receiving a response, but there was none.

Slipping from his saddle, he knelt down and placed his ear to the ground. He fancied he detected faint sounds, such as are made by multitudinous hoofs on the soft, wet earth, but the noises were so slight that he could not identify the direction whence they came, and he hastily climbed into the saddle again.

He realized that he was lost, and well aware that at such times it is useless to puzzle one's brains about the point of the compass, he dashed in the direction which seemed to be the right one. Of course, as in his recent experience, it proved to be wrong, and he now spurred toward the top of the ridge or hill, which it was easy to identify under the tread of his mustang. He was confident that this elevation would yield the key to the situation and he was not mistaken.

From the crest he observed the starlike glimmer of a lantern, and no sight, except that of the herd itself, could have been more welcome. It was the signal suspended every night from the front bow of the wagon, to guide the men whenever they needed guidance.

Confident that someone would be found at that point who could give him the important news he was seeking, Avon rode thither on a dead run. He saw no one stirring as he galloped up. The cook, who had charge of the wagon, was asleep, and the men off duty were slumbering soundly, while the chance was theirs.

But young Burnet had scarcely checked his mustang, when the sound of someone riding his horse equally fast reached his ear, and the next instant Oscar Gleeson dashed beside him.

"Howdy, Baby, is that you?" he asked, peering at the young man dimly seen in the scant yellow rays of the lantern.

"Yes, Ballyhoo," was the reply; "I'm in trouble."

"What is it?"

"I've lost the herd."

The Texan shook in his saddle with laughter.

"That's me, too; the first thing I knowed they was gone. I yelled for you, but you couldn't have heard me, and, after cantering round awhile, I struck for the wagon in quest of news."

Avon drew a sigh of relief, and with a smile:

"I'm glad you lost them, for the boys won't laugh at you, while they would at me."

"I don't think there's anyone in that crowd that will laugh, for they all had the same experience. I know Old Bronze and Short Stop have lost a herd more than once."

"It won't do to stay here," remarked Avon, "for you know there is another herd only a mile off, and if the two become mixed, it will be a big job to cut out ours to-morrow."

"I shouldn't wonder," replied Gleeson, "if the cattle have gone back to the bed-ground; at any rate we'll look for them there."

The return to the wagon enabled the couple to obtain their bearings, and they knew the proper course to reach the spot, but the possibility of the theory being wrong caused them to separate, so as to proceed thither by routes which, while substantially parallel, were so far apart that they were out of each other's sight and hearing, the latter being chiefly due to the direction of the wind.

Avon spurred Thunderbolt into an easy canter, the soft grass making the travel easy, though there was always the risk of his animal sinking one or more of his hoofs into a hole, with the prospect of a broken leg for the horse and a dislocated neck for his rider.

When it seemed to the latter that he had passed the intervening distance, he drew his mustang to a walk, listening and peering through the gloom with all the power at his command. There was no lighting of the darkness, the wind still blew keenly, and the fine drizzling rain continued.

No sight nor sound came to him, and, once more bringing his animal to a halt, he dismounted and pressed his ear to the ground.

This time he caught a distinct noise: it was that made by the hoofs of a horse. He was walking, and was so near that Thunderbolt pricked his ears and uttered a faint whinny of salutation. Avon instantly rose to his feet, and remounted.

Looking keenly into the wet darkness, he became aware that a horse was standing motionless but a short distance off on his left. In the gloom the outlines could be traced, but so dimly that he was uncertain whether he had a rider or not. The steed held his head well up like Thunderbolt, and appeared to be scrutinizing the youth and his animal with a curiosity equal to theirs.

There was something so impressive in the sight of the statue-like object, which emitted not the slightest sound, that young Burnet hesitated whether to advance or to await its approach. The man could not be Gleeson, and, whoever he was, it was evident that he regarded Avon with inquiring suspicion.

But unwilling to maintain the trying situation, the latter touched the neck of his mustang in a way which the animal recognized as a command to move forward very slowly. He obeyed, and had advanced but a few short steps when Avon to his astonishment perceived that the strange horse was without a rider.

"I don't understand that," mused the mystified young man, stopping his own animal, with several yards separating them; "he must have an owner, and what can have become of him, and why is——"

At that instant he observed a suspicious movement, seemingly from the other side of the steed. Before he could divine its nature, a rifle was discharged almost in his face and he went off his mustang like a flash.



CHAPTER XXVII.

SHACKAYE, THE COMANCHE.

Avon Burnet was in the act of lifting his Winchester from across the front of his saddle, when he made the discovery that, although the strange mustang in front of him bore no rider, yet a man was on the ground directly beyond and evidently watching every movement made by himself.

This discovery could mean but one thing: the individual was an enemy, and was on the point of making a hostile movement against him. He had undoubtedly dismounted on learning of Burnet's approach and interposed his steed between them. Despite the gloom on every hand, Avon read aright the meaning of the almost imperceptible movement on the other side of the saddle, and he slipped from the back of his mustang with a celerity which, being displayed almost at the instant of the discharge of the other weapon, looked as if it was the result of a fatal shot.

But, although the bullet so treacherously fired came near its mark, the youth was not touched. His action was in the nick of time: a second later could not have availed him.

He was incensed, as he had the best cause for being, and he resolved that the miscreant should not escape him. His rifle was snatched from its resting-place, and, stepping from behind Thunderbolt, he drew the best bead possible on his foe.

The dexterity of the latter was marvellous. It was as if, at the very instant of discharging his weapon, he had vaulted into the saddle, and, wheeling the head of his horse away, sent him scurrying straight from his intended victim.

Not only that, but, in accordance with the fashion of the frontier in such emergencies, he flung himself forward on the neck of his animal, so as to offer the least possible target to the other, who, if not hit hard, was certain to return the shot.

The curious feature of the proceeding was that the man, having seen the youth vanish from the back of his steed at the instant the gun was discharged, did not assume that he was killed. Possibly such was his supposition, and his hasty flight was partly due to his anxiety to place himself beyond reach of his friends, who were likely to be drawn thither by the sound of firing. His act in throwing himself upon the neck of his mustang was simply in obedience to the rule which requires the frontiersman to avail himself of every possible means of safety, even when there is seemingly no call for it.

Despite the quickness of young Burnet, he was able to bring his Winchester to a level only at the moment the steed was thundering out of sight in the darkness, but he let fly three times in rapid succession, reckless whether he struck rider or animal; but since the sound of the hoofs still came to him, he was chagrined at the conviction that he had missed both.

"But you haven't escaped me yet," he muttered, swinging himself into the saddle; "there is no horse in Texas or the Indian Nation that can leave me behind; now, Thunderbolt, run him down!"

But, while the fates had been kind to Avon, in that he escaped death by the narrowest conceivable chance, they seemed equally well disposed toward the object of his wrath. The boast of the pursuer as to the fleetness of his mustang was warranted, and had the circumstances continued favorable for only a few minutes, he would have brought his young rider beside the fleeing steed, where the account between the two men must have been quickly settled.

But at the very moment of starting, the forelegs of Thunderbolt sank into a hole above the knees. His activity saved him from harm, but his rider took a header over his ears, sprawling on the wet grass in front with a shock that stunned him.

By the time he could rally and remount his mustang, the other was not only beyond sight, but his listening ear could not detect the slightest sound of the flying hoofs.

"He has escaped this time," thought Avon, as he once more resumed his place in the saddle, "but the account is still open and must be settled very soon."

He was right, except that the account was closed not only sooner than he suspected, but in a manner of which he never dreamed.

Despite his alarming experience he had not lost his reckoning, and, facing toward the bed-ground of the herd, he had ridden but a short way, when the familiar sounds told him he was near the animals from which he was lost only a short time before.

"They are here, Baby, just as I thought." The remark was made by Gleeson, who loomed up in the gloom as he spoke, with his mustang on a deliberate walk.

"I am glad of that, and, since no one beside you and me knows of our slip last night, we'll keep it to ourselves."

"I've no objection; but didn't I hear a gun go off a few minutes ago? What was you shooting at?"

"It wasn't I—someone shot at me."

And thereupon Avon related the particulars of his encounter with the treacherous horseman. Gleeson listened and said nothing until he had finished. Then, with a characteristic exclamation, he expressed his regret that Thunderbolt should have stumbled as he did.

"Keep your eyes open," he added. "I'll do the same, and we'll get the drop on him soon."

"Why does he want to hurt me?" asked Avon, "when there has never been a word between us?"

"It's the nature of the animal," was the reply. "It wouldn't have made any difference whether it was you or me, so he thought he had a sure thing of it. That's what he's here for."

It was evident from these words that each of the speakers was satisfied as to the identity of the one that had fired the well-nigh fatal shot. Gleeson named him immediately.

"I warned the cap, when he hired that Comanche, that we would have trouble with him. We left Texas a little short-handed, but we could have got through well enough without him. Howsumever, Shackaye, as you remember, rode into camp one day and asked the cap to give him a job, and the cap done it."

"I recall your words about him, and I thought they were not justified; but what made you so suspicious?"

The Texan uttered an impatient exclamation.

"In the first place he's an Injin, and that ought to be enough. I never seen one of his race that it's safe to trust; they'll shoot the man that gives them a cup of water or a piece of bread. Talk about Injin gratitude! There aint any such thing."

"What did my uncle say to your sentiments?"

"He laughed in that quiet way of his, and said maybe as I was right, but he didn't see what we had to fear from one Injin that was in camp with us; he reckoned we could pull his teeth before he could bite enough to hurt."

"I am sure he will think differently when he hears my story."

"Don't tell him or anyone else a word about it. Promise me that."

"And why?" asked the surprised Avon.

"Well," was the hesitating answer, "I've several reasons: one of them is that though you and me have fixed on the Comanche as the chap, we aint sure of it. It looks very much that way, but it may be someone else after all. We mustn't make any mistake, and above all, don't let Shackaye think we suspect him."

The youth gave his promise, though in his mind there was no doubt of the identity of the man that had come so near shooting him from his mustang. He saw the wisdom of not allowing Shackaye to know that he was suspected.

The cattle having been located, the couple had little to do but to hold them where they were. This proved less difficult than at other times. They had the help of Burrell, or Old Bronze, in the work, and the three did little but ride back and forth, timing their course in such a way that they skirted the large body of animals, often meeting and exchanging greetings, but more often passing without seeming to see each other.

Sometimes one of the cattle would show a determination to dash away from the main body, but before he went far, a horseman was in front of him and he was forced back. The night was too chilly for sleeping, else one or more of the herders would have stretched out on the damp earth, with his bridle reins so interlocked with his arm that his horse could not wander off, or he would have fallen asleep in his saddle. When worn out with fatigue and loss of slumber, a cowboy often rides for miles totally unconscious of what is going on around him.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

A MISHAP.

The weather cleared toward morning, and the sun rose without a cloud obscuring its face. The halt had been made along a small tributary of the Wichita, whose upper waters flow through the country of the Kiowas, Comanches, and Apaches, that of the Cheyennes and Arapahoes lying further north.

The scene was inspiriting. The cowboys gathered around the wagon for breakfast, the cook having been thoughtful enough to protect the wood against the rain. The animals were busy cropping the grass, which was rich and succulent on all sides of the Trail, the hands for the time being bestowing only general attention on them, but everyone was ready to leap into the saddle and dash off at a instant's call.

Captain Shirril discovered that a bunch of thirty cattle were missing, and believed they had joined his friend's herd a mile to the southward, from which it would be necessary to separate or cut them out.

Antonio Nunez, the Mexican, and Shackaye, the Comanche (the latter of whom showed no evidence of having been engaged in questionable business during the preceding night), were similarly attired, though it would be supposed that the full-blooded Indian would have dressed in accordance with the fashion of his people. He claimed, however, to have been engaged in the cattle business before, and, when he first presented himself in camp on his wiry pony, he wore the broad-brimmed sombrero, baggy leather breeches, and red sash around his waist, which were the most noticeable features of the Mexican's make-up.

The Comanche, however, used no spurs, his feet being shod with moccasins, and, instead of the revolver worn by the Mexicans, he carried a knife thrust in at his girdle and a breech-loading rifle, which was not repeating.

The cowboys sported the same broad-brimmed hats, which in some instances cost more than all the rest of their suits, the leggings, flannel overshirts, and gaudy handkerchiefs tied loosely around their necks.

All, as a matter of course, were expert horsemen, and were furnished with two or three excellent animals apiece, for their business is as trying upon them as upon the men.

The meal was quickly finished, and Captain Shirril, with two of his hands, set out for the camp to the rear, where he hoped to find the missing cattle. Since there was a possibility that they had strayed in other directions, three more men were despatched to make search.

It was rather curious that the captain selected as his assistants his nephew Avon and the young Comanche Shackaye. When they were riding off, Gleeson, the Texan, looked at the youth and winked, but said nothing.

Half-way to the camp, the three galloped over a ridge or swell in the prairie, when to their surprise they came upon the missing animals browsing just beyond.

"That's lucky!" said the captain; "the job is going to be easier than I supposed. Avon, you and Shackaye ride to the left, while I will turn to the right. Look out for that ugly steer; we have had trouble with him before, and I believe he is in a bad mood now."

The Indian grinned on hearing these words and said:

"Me no 'fraid; me rope him if he fight."

And to show his contempt for the huge brute, he drove his mustang straight for him as he was grazing on the further side of the group. The steer raised his head, with the grass hanging from his jaws, and looked quietly at the approaching Indian. He seemed to be in doubt as to his purpose, until Shackaye, when almost upon him, swung his arm above his head and uttered a tantalizing shout, as if he wished to enrage the beast.

If such was his purpose he succeeded, for with a muttered bellow, the steer dropped his head and charged fiercely at the pony, which, to save himself, was obliged to wheel with such suddenness that the young Comanche, despite his superb horsemanship, was thrown violently to the ground directly in front of the animal.

Occasionally a cowboy is caught in the perilous situation of the young Comanche. His horse may stumble, his lasso (always called a "rope" except in California) become entangled, or he may be thrown to the ground in the path of the charging steer or bull, which is sure to be upon him before he can regain his feet and steed.

In such emergencies there is but the single thing to do: that is, to shoot the animal, and to hesitate to do so means certain death to the endangered cattleman.

Two causes prevented Shackaye from appealing to this last and only recourse. His fall was so violent that he was slightly dazed, though he did not lose sight of his peril, but he made the mistake of attempting to climb to his feet and darting aside, when the time at command was insufficient to take him beyond reach of the savage steer.

His rifle remained in place on the front of his saddle, so that it was beyond his reach, while, as I have stated elsewhere, he carried no pistol. He was, therefore, without firearms.

Captain Shirril was fully two hundred yards away, but he saw the imminence of the danger, and, bringing his gun to a level, fired at the steer, calling at the same moment to his nephew to shoot it. The captain's bullet struck the beast, but without producing any effect, unless to add to his rage.

It took Avon but a second or two to raise his Winchester to his shoulder and aim at the animal, which was near at hand.

"If I was sure that was you last night," he thought, "I would let the steer do his duty, but maybe you are innocent, so here goes!"

It was no special feat of marksmanship to send a rifle-ball through the heart of the charging brute, but he was so close to the Comanche when he received the shot that he would have tumbled over him, had not Shackaye managed to roll aside in time to avoid the huge mass, which ploughed along the ground, as if fired from an enormous gun.

The occurrence alarmed the other cattle, and they started off at such a pace that the instant attention of the captain and his nephew was required. Paying no further heed to the unhorsed Shackaye, Avon sent his mustang after the flying animals, the captain doing the same from his direction.

The hardest of riding was required to round them up and turn their faces toward the main herd, and it was not long before Avon found himself pitted against a steer fully as ugly as that which he had been obliged to shoot a few minutes before. All the others were finally forced into the right course, and this obstinate animal was disposed to join them, but after trotting for a short distance, he seemed to tire of being good, and, wheeling about, charged like a runaway engine at the youthful horseman who was harrying him so hard.

In such crises a great deal depends on the intelligence of the horse. Thunderbolt sprang aside with the nimbleness of a monkey, and Avon received just enough warning to hold his place in the saddle. The steer attempted to keep up his pursuit, turning with remarkable quickness for such a large animal, but the dexterity of Thunderbolt was still greater, and he easily evaded the sharp horns which came near him more than once. Finally, as if he saw the uselessness of his pursuit, the steer headed in the opposite direction from that which he ought to have taken, and sped away with all the fleetness he possessed.

Avon saw his uncle galloping to his help.

"Leave him to me!" called the nephew; "I'll conquer him."

Captain Shirril drew up, and, from his perch in the saddle, watched the result of the curious contest.

Avon had his rope ready to fling over the horns of the fugitive, but before doing so, he resorted to another artifice, which few persons of his years can carry out successfully. It is not only difficult, but it is vastly more dangerous, in the event of the animal showing fight, as the steer had already done.

It was necessary to force Thunderbolt close beside the fugitive, and, despite the courage of the mustang, it was only natural that he should feel some reluctance against doing this. Those horns possessed prodigious length and sharpness, and had already been turned upon him; but he was obedient, and urged by the pricking of the spur and the words of his master, he edged still nearer, though it need not be said that he kept an eye to windward. It was well he did so.

Young Burnet was in the act of leaning forward to attempt the dangerous and difficult feat, when the steer again dropped his head, with one side lower than the other, as such animals do when assailing a foe sideways, and charged upon the mustang.

Nine horses out of ten would have been fatally impaled by the suddenness of the assault, for there was no time for him to wheel; but with a dexterity that seemed incredible, he instantly rose on his hind feet and bounded clean over the steer. The wonder of the exploit was how the horse gathered himself and applied his strength with such astonishing quickness, but he did it like a trained gymnast, his rider maintaining his seat without difficulty and feeling a thrill of admiration at the amazing skill of his steed.

If a dumb animal can ever show surprise, the steer displayed it at the action of the mustang. Having made his lunge with his horns, he must have become aware that, instead of piercing flesh and blood, they clove vacancy only. With his head aloft, and snorting with anger, he stared where the horse and rider were a moment before, but where now they were not.

He looked to the right and left, as if unable to comprehend what had become of them. Captain Shirril was seated motionless on his steed, several hundred yards distant, and, if the steer decided for a moment in his own mind that he was the individual he was looking for, he must have been puzzled to know how it was his horse traveled so far in such an amazingly brief space of time.

The sound of hoofs caused the animal to look on the other side of him, where, sure enough, only a short distance off was the identical offender, calmly surveying him as if plotting further mischief.

Instantly the head of the steer dropped again, and he was in the act of charging with the same impetuosity as before, when he changed his mind, and, instead of becoming a pursuer, resumed the character of a fugitive.



CHAPTER XXIX.

OLD ACQUAINTANCES.

Without hesitation the mustang was after the stubborn steer again, showing less fear than before, though he maintained a sharp lookout against a repetition of the attack. It may have been that the dexterous manner in which he had just eluded the brute gave him self-confidence, as it weakened that of the fugitive without lessening his obduracy, for he took care that the line of his flight led straight away from his own herd.

With the same care Thunderbolt began edging up, and, in a brief while, his head was abreast of the haunch of the steer, and steadily gaining. Avon now leaned over the right shoulder of his mustang, and reaching forward and downward, seized the tail of the steer, and in a flash twisted all that was sufficiently flexible around the horn of his saddle. At the same instant he called sharply to Thunderbolt, who made a vicious bound to the left, and the steer, with a short bellow of pain, went down with fearful violence.

But he was not yet conquered. As full of energy and obstinacy as ever, he seemed to leap to his feet as if made of rubber, but without attempting to resent the indignity he had suffered, he continued his impetuous flight.

The brief interval had given Avon time in which to uncoil his rope. Instead of flinging it over the horns of the steer he dexterously caught the loop around one of his hind legs, and jerked it taut with the quickness of lightning. Down went the animal again, kicking and bellowing and struggling hard to regain his feet.

The youth allowed him to succeed, when, with the help of the mustang, he was thrown again. This was repeated several times, until it was apparent that the captive was subdued. Finally, after receiving another fall, he refused to try to regain his feet.

Avon now managed to loosen the loop sufficiently to slip it off the imprisoned leg. Then, holding several coils in his grasp, he reached over and gave the panting animal several resounding whacks on his ribs.

He smiled as the brute hastily clambered up, and, turning his nose toward the other cattle a considerable distance off, broke into a trot after them, still bellowing as if asking them to wait until he could join them. No refractory urchin was ever brought to terms with more completeness than was the defiant steer.

Now that the disciplined animal was travelling in the right direction, his conqueror also faced Captain Shirril, who had been watching him with much interest, while the cattle were stringing along at a rapid gallop in the direction of the ridge beyond which lay the invisible camp of the cowmen.

The lull in the stirring proceeding led Avon to recall the mishap of Shackaye, who had escaped the horns of the other steer by such a narrow chance. He cast his eye toward the body of the dead animal plainly seen across the prairie, but the young Comanche himself was not in sight. He concluded that he must have remounted his mustang and galloped back to camp. Possibly he had received some injury from his fall which placed it beyond his power to help in the work of gathering the stray members of the herd.

Avon turned his attention to his relative, when he was astonished to perceive fully a dozen horsemen a short distance off between him and the ridge.

The first natural thought of the youth was that the party at the camp had ridden out to their help, but he instantly saw that such could not be the case, since there were so many of them, and it did not require a second glance to ascertain that each one was a mounted Indian.

The first emotion following this discovery was that of a wonderment as to what it could all mean. It was not remarkable that they should encounter Indians, while crossing the section set apart especially for their occupancy, nor was anything to be feared from them unless the temptation to violence became unusually strong on the part of the red men.

But there was something ominous in the sudden and singular appearance of these dusky plainsmen. They had shown up unexpectedly, the indication being that they had emerged from a group of hills a short distance to the eastward. Colonel Sclevinger and his herd were beyond sight, so that the two friends were in anything but a pleasant situation.

But while it looked as if the Indians must be friendly from force of circumstances, their conduct justified the grave alarm Avon felt on first seeing them. Perceiving they were discovered, they broke into a rapid gallop beyond the unsuspicious Captain Shirril, spreading apart like a fan, as if they meant to inclose him in the circle beyond escape.

A shout from the young man caused his uncle to look around, when he discovered what was going on. He instantly touched his animal with his spurs and sent him swiftly toward Avon, who advanced to meet him.

"What does it mean?" asked the younger as they came together.

"It means mischief," was the reply. "I believe some of them belong to the party that tried to burn our house."

"Then they are Comanches?"

"Every one of them—where's Shackaye?" abruptly asked the captain, as if the naming of the tribe had recalled that interesting youth to his mind.

"I shouldn't wonder if he were among them," replied Avon, with a certain grim pleasure, as he recalled the faith his uncle had shown in the savage in the face of Gleeson's warnings.

"Like enough," remarked the captain, watching the actions of the warriors, who had diverged so far already that it was impossible for the couple to escape in any direction without coming in collision with them; "we've got to stand them off."

Without any appearance of alarm in his manner Captain Shirril slipped down from his saddle, his nephew being but a few seconds behind him, and the two coolly prepared to make a stand against the attack of the Comanches.



CHAPTER XXX.

AT BAY.

Captain Shirril and his nephew placed their ponies beside each other, with a space of only a few feet intervening. Then, standing on the ground, they rested their Winchesters across the saddles, facing in opposite directions, and were ready for the assault of the red men, who were circling back and forth and gradually drawing nearer to them.

"Keep cool," said the captain, "and, when you fire, don't throw away a shot."

They were a mile from camp, and, as soon as the shooting began, it ought to attract the notice of the rest, who were sure to hurry to the spot. There was reason to believe the Indians could be held off for a long time, and, brave as they were, it was not to be expected that they would maintain their ground before such a charge as the cowboys would make, and had made a short time before.



The warriors were armed with excellent rifles, and belonged to a tribe that is unsurpassable in horsemanship. Several had blankets on their mustangs, but most were without even that protection, being bareback, while few possessed anything in the nature of a bridle. The well-trained steeds, as we have shown, were perfectly managed by word and touch, and often seemed to divine the wishes of their riders, without word or movement on their part.

But, daring as were the latter, they knew the peril involved in assailing two well-armed white men at bay. They continued their rapid galloping at a safe distance, some of them describing a complete circle around the couple, who were quietly awaiting the chances for effective work.

Before long the assailants began operations. Hardly one retained an upright position on his steed for more than a few seconds at a time. They flung themselves forward, as if in wantonness, their painted faces appearing below their horses' necks, with their long black hair streaming away, as if it were a part of the mane of their steeds. Then they extended themselves seemingly along the spine of their animals, as if for slumber in the sun. While the steeds sped back and forth, the riders lolled here and there on their backs, as though it was impossible for them to lose their balance. Trying as were the circumstances, Captain Shirril could not help admiring the equestrian exhibition, which could not have been excelled.

But he quickly proved that he meant business of the most serious kind. He fixed his attention on one of the half-naked miscreants, who was not only nearer than any of his companions, but kept edging closer. For a time, he maintained himself on the further side of his mustang, seeming to hold himself in place by the toe of one of his moccasins thrust over the spine at the haunches, with hardly less significant help from a hand at the base of the neck.

When the horse wheeled to return over his own trail, as he frequently did, the matchless rider, with a grace that was inimitable, swung himself over in a corresponding position on the other side, so as to preserve the body of his steed as a shield.

Without warning, he discharged his rifle from beneath the neck of the animal, and the excellence of his aim was proven by the whiz of the bullet near the head of Captain Shirril.

But the latter was not disturbed. He was biding his time, and knew the opportunity was near.

Suddenly the mustang wheeled again. At the moment of doing so, he was closer to the defenders than at any period before. The rider rose to view for a moment, like a leaper going over a fence sideways. Then as he descended on the other side of the steed, he continued descending until he struck the ground, where he rolled over a single time and never stirred again.

At the critical instant, Captain Shirril had fired. An ear-splitting screech followed, and that particular Comanche was eliminated from the problem that confronted him.

The riderless horse flung up his head, with a whinny of affright, and, looking hither and thither, as if unable to understand the meaning of the occurrence, dashed off to join his companions, further away on the prairie.

The thin puff of smoke had not lifted from before the captain's face, when his nephew let fly at one of the warriors, who was extended along the back of his animal, as if inviting a shot. Avon missed, and the Indian, with astonishing quickness, brought his own gun to a level and fired in return. The ball nipped the brim of his sombrero, passing so close that for a second the youth believed he was hit.

The situation was growing serious, and, since this particular Comanche was so defiant, Avon decided that the occasion was a good one for the use of a repeating weapon. Without pausing to take special aim, he fired three times in rapid succession at his foe.

Though the latter escaped for the moment, his steed was less fortunate. He was hit hard by the first shot, while the last brought him to earth with a bullet through his brain.

His rider was too nimble to be caught by the fall, but, leaping clear, ran swiftly across the plain in the effort to get beyond reach of the rifle, which seemed to be raining bullets all around him. His courage had given place to panic, and as he ran he bounded from side to side and up and down with the grotesque contortions of a Digger Indian when seeking to baffle the aim of an enemy.

Avon continued his fusillade, and by a piece of pure accident winged the fugitive. He did not fall, but the height of his leap and the resonance of his outcry, instantly succeeded by a pronounced limp in his gait, left no doubt that he had gotten in the path of the hurtling messenger.

"How are you making out, Baby?" asked Captain Shirril, turning his head and coolly scrutinizing his relative.

"Only fairly," replied Avon, replenishing the magazine of his gun and keeping his gaze on the plain in front.

"It is well enough to drop a mustang, but it is better to tumble their riders off them."

"I meant to do that, but failed."

The natural supposition of the friends was that the hot reception they had given their assailants would check them, and cause their withdrawal beyond the deadly range of their Winchesters. The reports must have reached the cowboys, and both glanced at the ridge to the west, over which they expected to see their comrades coming to their rescue.

But the Comanches could not have failed to know of the presence of others near at hand, which fact warned them that whatever they did must be done quickly. Instead of falling back, therefore, because of the loss of a single warrior and steed, they rallied and pushed the fight with greater vigor than ever.

In the face of the cracking Winchesters they rode closer than before, and then branching apart, put their animals on a run while they discharged their guns from every conceivable position. Instead of wheeling about as at first, they kept them straight away on the circle, which being less than before, enabled them to circumnavigate the defenders in a brief space of time.

The captain and his nephew had their hands full, for assailants were on every side of them, and the popping of their guns was continuous. The attack was so serious, and the defenders were in such a conspicuous position, that it was impossible to escape the storm of bullets flying all around them.

A quick start on the part of Thunderbolt showed that he had been hit, while almost at the same moment the rearing of the captain's mustang proved that he, too, was hurt.

"Make your horse lie down," called the elder.

Avon had already determined on this recourse, and seizing the head of his animal he ordered him down. Thunderbolt was well trained, but the hurt already received made him restless, and his young master had to engage in a partial struggle before he gathered his legs under him and rolled over on his side.

The instant he did so Avon knelt behind his body and was in the most favorable posture for defense.

Captain Shirril's task proved more difficult. His horse refused to go down at his command, and it was necessary to throw him. He resisted with such vigor that his owner dropped his rifle and was forced to use his utmost strength before he could trip and bring him to the earth. He still fought, and the captain, losing patience for the moment, forgot the whistling missiles and gave his whole attention to the brute, which he speedily conquered.

Avon was on the point of offering help, when he perceived that the mustang was mastered, and he once more turned to the enemy, now pressing his advantage to the utmost.

The Comanches were so close, and the opportunity for aiming effectively was so good, that the shots of the youth began to tell. Had the red men been compelled to maintain one position in front, a single person with a repeating Winchester could have stood off the whole party; but, as has been explained, the Indians were on every hand.

But Avon was not throwing away his cartridges. The very first shot bored its way through the bronzed skull of a shrieking warrior, and the second slew his pony with such suddenness that the two rolled together on the plain, the warrior being unable to extricate himself from beneath his struggling mustang.

The young man, finding no one in his immediate front, turned toward a couple that were advancing from another point, but before he could make his aim sure, he was shocked to hear a groan from Captain Shirril.

"Are you hit?" asked the nephew, turning his scared face toward him.

"Yes, but still able to do something; bring your horse to his feet and make a dash for the camp. There isn't an earthly chance for us here."

"But I cannot leave you, uncle, and, if I could it would be impossible to run the gauntlet."

"It's our only hope; my horse is too badly hurt to carry me off, but you may succeed, if you ride hard."

"It won't do," replied the nephew, who, had the prospect been ten-fold more favorable, could not have deserted his relative at such a time.

"Hurrah!" he exclaimed the next moment, "yonder come the boys!"

He had caught sight of their friends approaching over the ridge, their animals on a dead run.

"They will be too late," said Captain Shirril, whose horse at that moment received another shot and renewed his frantic struggles to regain his feet. His owner interposed, but, he, too, was wounded and unable to put forth the strength that had conquered the brute a moment before.

Avon would have gone to his help had there been anything to gain by it.

"Let him go," he said, "he can do you no good."

"Yes, he can and he shall."

As he spoke, the captain whipped out his revolver and drove a couple of bullets through the brain of the mustang. He expected him to drop dead on the instant, when he would serve the purpose intended of a breastwork for his master.

Avon had withdrawn his attention at the critical moment, fearful that the Comanches, realizing the straits of himself and companion, would overwhelm them before resistance could be offered. Thus his head was turned away from the mortally hurt horse of the captain, which, instead of sinking helpless to the earth, made a frantic leap and fell upon the unprepared youth.

It seemed for the moment as if a mountain had descended upon him. He struggled fiercely to free himself, and in his desperate effort worked his head and shoulders clear, but while trying to draw his revolver for his last defence, he succumbed. The sunlight faded from before his eyes, all became blank darkness, and consciousness departed.



CHAPTER XXXI.

FLAG OF TRUCE.

There was nothing to cause apprehension on the part of the cowboys in camp, when they heard the report of a single rifle from beyond the ridge over which Captain Shirril, Avon Burnet, and the young Comanche Shackaye had ridden in pursuit of the cattle that went astray the night before. One of the party might have found a chance to bring down something in the nature of game, which is liable to be encountered at every part of the Great Cattle Trail, from the outskirts of the capital of Texas to its termination in the State of Kansas.

But when, soon after, the shots came thick and fast, it was apparent that something unusual was going on.

"There's mischief afoot!" called out Gleeson, "and that Comanche is at the bottom of it. Come, boys!"

There was not an instant's hesitation on the part of any member of the company. The cattle that were quietly browsing on the succulent grass were left to wander off or stampede themselves, or do whatever they chose, while the cowboys, including Nunez, the Mexican, swung into their saddles and sped away on a dead run toward the ridge.

Before they reached it the missing cattle came up from the other side and appeared on the crest. The advent of the steer that had suffered so severely at the hands of Avon Burnet imparted a mild panic to the others, so that the whole lot were on a trot. The horsemen were in too great haste to turn aside, and the animals, therefore, swerved to the right and continued their brisk gait in the direction of the main herd.

As has been said, every mustang was running at the highest speed, but the impetuous Gleeson maintained his place in front, and thundered up the slope as if his own life were at stake. Before he struck the crest, he rose in his box-stirrups and peered over at the plain beyond.

"Just what I expected!" he exclaimed, "and that Shackaye has done it!"

It was not necessary to explain, for, before he could have done so, his comrades caught sight of the stirring scene which thrilled their leader. Captain Shirril and his nephew were standing off a party of dusky assailants, who were pressing them hard. The two mustangs were plainly seen, while the flashes of the Winchesters from behind them told the story as eloquently as if the cowboys were actual participants in the affray.

Not another word was uttered by the latter, but pressing their spurs deep into the flanks of their horses they sent them with arrowy haste straight toward the spot. They had hardly reached the base of the slope when they held their breath, for they saw the crisis had come. The red men were closing around the two combatants as if they realized that whatever was to be accomplished must be done within the succeeding few seconds.

Half the distance was passed, when the Comanches were observed scurrying toward a mass of hills hardly a half-mile distant. They rode so closely that the cowboys failed to note the momentous fact that they bore a prisoner with them.

In such emergencies a party of American Indians generally manage to carry off their dead and wounded, but the haste was too urgent in this case. The stark figures were left stretched on the prairies where they had fallen, and a number of animals also lay motionless near. The wounded were taken care of, but the dead were left to bury the dead.

The cowboys discharged a score of shots at the Comanches, but the distance was too great to accomplish anything, and, seeing that it was impossible to overtake them before they reached the shelter of the wooded hills, Gleeson led the party toward the spot where they believed their friends needed instant care.

The prostrate horses, and a partial glimpse of a figure lying between them, caused the rescuers to believe that the captain and his nephew were either slain outright or badly hurt.

The approaching mustangs kept up their run until they were thrown on their haunches with such suddenness that the shock seemed to fling the riders from their saddles. They leaped forward, and vigorous arms quickly lifted the body of the captain's horse from off young Burnet, who opened his eyes and looked up with that faint wildness which showed he had no conception of the situation.

"Where's the captain?"

This was the question that was asked by several, as all glared around for their leader. Before anyone attempted an answer, others examined the nephew and found he was without a wound. He had swooned under the sudden pressure of the horse shot by his uncle, but he quickly recovered, and, after being assisted to his feet and shaking himself together, everything came back to him. Turning to Thunderbolt he ordered him to rise, and the animal obeyed. He had received a couple of flesh-wounds, which stung him for the moment without incapacitating him for effective service.

Then, in as few words as possible, Avon told his story. He remembered that his uncle was wounded before his horse was killed, and it was self-evident to everyone that the poor man had been carried off by the Comanches.