AN UNEXPECTED QUERY.
As long as Captain Shirril stayed near the scuttle, he could not command
a view of the entire roof of his cabin. His interest in what was going
on below made him anxious to do this, but he was too alive to his own
danger to remain motionless for more than a few minutes at a time.
The indistinct rustling that had awakened his hope soon ceased, and he
was compelled to believe the Comanche had given up his intention of
trying to gain a stealthy shot at him and was now devoting himself to
the inmates of the dwelling.
How he longed to descend through the scuttle and take part in the
stirring events that must soon be under way there! What short work he
would make of the wretch who had dared to assume such a risk!
But it was useless to regret his own shortsightedness, now that it
rendered him powerless to strike a blow for his friends. He crept to the
peak of the roof, and scrutinized every portion thus brought into his
field of vision. Not the slightest sound fell upon his ear that could
indicate danger, nor could he discern anything of his enemies.
The wind was still blowing fitfully, and he heard the familiar rustle of
the mesquite bush, with now and then a signal passing between the
Comanches. He listened in vain for the noise made by the hoofs of their
mustangs. They seemed to have ceased their aimless galloping back and
forth, and were probably plotting some new form of mischief.
Suddenly the rattle of a horse's feet struck him. It broke upon his
hearing for an instant, and then ceased as abruptly as it had made
itself manifest.
It was as if a steed were galloping over the soft earth, and, reaching a
small bridge of planks, dashed over them with two or three bounds, his
hoofs immediately becoming inaudible in the yielding ground beyond.
That which might have puzzled a listener was plain to the Texan, who had
spent many years on the plains of the Southwest. He knew that what might
be called a peculiar eddy in the fitful wind had brought the sound to
him. A sudden change of direction--ended as soon as it began--whirled
the noise as straight across the intervening space as if it had been
fired by an arrow.
The sound was similar to that which he had noticed many times that
evening, but the impression came to him that it possessed a significance
which belonged to none of the others. It was a single horse, and he was
going at a moderate speed, which, however, was the case with most of
those he had heard.
All at once the sound broke upon his ear again, but this time it was
accompanied by the noise of many other hoofs.
"They are cattle," was his conclusion; "a part of the herd has been
stampeded, and one of the men is trying to round them up: it was his
mustang that I heard--ah! there it goes again!"
It was the crack of a rifle and the screech of a mortally struck person
that startled him this time.
"I believe that was a Comanche who has gone down before the rifle of one
of our men."
As the reader is aware, the Texan was correct in every particular, for
it was the report of Gleeson's Winchester, which ended the career of the
warrior pressing Avon Burnet so hard, that reached the captain as he lay
on the roof of his own dwelling.
The whimsical nature of the wind, that had been blowing all the night,
excluded further sounds. The stillness that succeeded seemed so
unnatural in its way that it might have alarmed a more superstitious
person. Once the faintest possible rumbling of the cattle's hoofs was
detected, but it quickly subsided, and nothing more of the kind was
noticeable.
It was clear that the Comanches in the immediate vicinity of the cabin
must have noted all that interested the Texan. Whatever the issue of the
remarkable meeting on the prairie, there could be no doubt that one of
the red men had been laid low. Another had been shot by the captain a
short time before, not to mention the other one or two that he believed
had fallen.
Thus far, no one of the inmates had been harmed, unless perchance his
nephew was overtaken by disaster. Consequently, the game the Comanches
were playing, though they did their part with rare skill, was a losing
one up to this point.
As the minutes passed, the Texan found himself more hopeful than he had
been through the entire evening. He was strong in the belief that Avon
had succeeded in reaching the camp of the cattlemen, and that the latter
would soon appear on the scene with an emphasis that would scatter his
assailants like so much chaff.
The only vulnerable point for fire was on the roof, but the designs of
the Indians had been defeated thus far, and he believed they could be
stood off indefinitely, at least until the arrival of the cowboys, who
would then take charge of business.
The two matters that gave him anxiety were the presence of the warrior
below in the cabin, and the probability of himself being struck by some
of the bullets that he expected to come scurrying over the planking
every minute.
The two shots that had been fired came alarmingly near, and the next
were likely to come still nearer.
But immunity from harm gives one confidence, and only a few more minutes
passed when, instead of contenting himself with peering about him, the
captain began stealthily creeping toward the part of the eaves where the
last Indian had appeared and disappeared so suddenly.
Mindful of the risk of the action, he paused when close to the edge, and
waited several minutes before venturing to peep over. The stillness was
as if every living person were a hundred miles away. This, however, as
he well knew, might be the case with a score of Indians grouped directly
beneath.
But having gone thus far, he did not mean to return to his post without
accomplishing something. With the greatest possible caution, he raised
his head just far enough to look over. He held it in this position only
a second or two, for, if any of his enemies were on the alert, they
would be sure to observe him.
Nothing greeted his vision, beyond that which he had seen times without
number. He did not catch the outlines of a single person or mustang,
though convinced they were near at hand.
Had there been any doubt on this point, it would have been dissipated by
a repetition of the signals that seemed almost continually passing
between the besieging Comanches.
Captain Shirril noticed that the sounds came from the direction of the
mesquite bush, as though most of them had gathered there apparently for
consultation, and were calling in the other members of their party.
"If that is so, they can't do us much harm," was his conclusion, "but
they are not likely to stay there. I suppose they have gathered in Avon
and my horses long ago, and we shall have to ride other animals on the
tramp to Kansas."
On the whole, the result of his survey was satisfactory; whatever
mischief the Comanches were plotting, there was no immediate danger.
Minutes were precious, but they were more valuable to the defenders than
to the assailants. The cattlemen must arrive soon, and when they did so
the siege would be over.
The reconnoissance, if such it may be termed, lasted but a few minutes,
when the captain started on his cautious return to the scuttle, in the
hope that something in the way of information awaited him there.
To his amazement, he was still within several yards, when he perceived
that it was open.
The door was raised fully six inches, the opening being toward him, so
that the Comanche had him at his mercy. It looked indeed to the Texan as
if his enemy had got the drop on him, and at last he was at his mercy.
The captain whipped out his revolver, but before he could fire a
familiar voice called out in a husky undertone:
"Am dat you, captin'? And am you well?"