as 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