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.