ne an edge that they traced his descent step
by step until he stood on the lower floor.

Having arrived there, he paused for a minute or two, as if in doubt what
next to do. Evidently he was listening in the hope that the women would
betray their presence by some movement, but in this he was mistaken.

During those brief moments, Mrs. Shirril was on the point, more than
once, of bringing her rifle to her shoulder and shooting down the wretch
who was seeking their lives; but accustomed as she was to the rough
experience of the frontier, she could not nerve herself to the point of
doing so. She knew the precise spot where he was standing, and, at the
first direct approach, she would shoot him as if he was a rabid dog. But
so long as he was motionless, she refrained.

What the Comanche would have done at the end of a few minutes it is
impossible to say, had not an interruption, as surprising as it was
unexpected by all parties, taken place.

CHAPTER XX.

"THE BOYS HAVE ARRIVED!"

The embers on the hearth had smouldered so low that they were mere
points of light that served to make the gloom deeper and more
expressive. But suddenly a half-burned stick fell apart, and a little
twist of flame filled almost the entire room with light.

By its illumination the Indian was seen standing at the foot of the
ladder, his rifle grasped in his left hand, his right at his hip, while
his body was crouching in the attitude of intense attention, and as if
he were on the point of making a leap forward.

He happened to be looking toward the fireplace; but, fortunately for the
women, both were gazing straight at him. He glanced to the right and
left, and, catching sight of the figures behind him, wheeled like a
panther, emitting a hiss of exultation at the knowledge that he had
found his victims at last.

But the first dart of his serpent-like eyes showed the white woman, as
immovable as a statue, with her rifle levelled at his chest and her
delicate forefinger on the trigger.

Mrs. Shirril had the drop on him!

"If you move, I will shoot you dead!" she said in a low voice, in which
there was not the first tremor.

Possibly the Comanche did not understand the English tongue, but he
could not mistake her meaning. He knew that on the first motion to raise
his rifle, draw his knife, or take one step toward the couple, he would
be slain where he stood. He, therefore, remained as motionless as she
who held him at her mercy.