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.