hold his
line of retreat open. The way behind him was clear, whereas, if he took
his horse further, the course would become so obstructed that he could
not mount and dash out upon the plain if it became necessary.

He expected to make a long and tedious search, with the probable result
of failure, so far as helping his relative was concerned, and with the
certainty of great danger to himself, but events moved along with a
rush, before he could anticipate them.

Convinced that he was to the rear of the main party, he advanced with
the utmost care. The hills were no more than a hundred feet high at
their greatest elevation, and were broken by gullies, ravines, and
trails that appeared to have been partly made by the feet of animals,
greatly helped by the washing of the severe storms which often sweep
over that section.

The youth had penetrated barely a hundred yards from the point where he
left his mustang, and was picking his way cautiously forward, when he
was startled by hearing voices. The words were too low for him to
distinguish them, but he instantly stopped with his Winchester ready for
use. A collision seemed unavoidable, since there was no means of
concealing himself except by turning about and running back, and that
could hardly avail him.

The next minute he was face to face with Shackaye, the young Comanche
that was the cause of all the trouble. The fellow was as much startled
as he, and stopping short, partly raised his gun, as if to defend
himself.

Before, however, either could speak or make any movements, Avon was
astounded to catch sight of his uncle, Captain Shirril, walking slowly
and evidently in pain, close behind him along the narrow path. The
instant he descried his nephew, he raised his hand as a signal for him
to do nothing.

"It's all right," he said, in a guarded voice; "Shackaye is our friend,
though he hasn't been until now."

"How is this?" asked the youth, motionless and undecided whether to
advance or retreat.

The broad face of the dusky youth expanded with a slight grin, and he
replied:

"Shackaye fall on ground--Baby shoot steer--Shackaye tell warriors Baby
dead--leaving him alone--bringing way captain--den Shackaye show captain
way home--must hurry--Comanche come!"

"Have you a horse with you?" asked Captain Shirril, crowding forward,
impatient to improve the precious moments.

"Yes; follow me."

The prisoner had been deprived of all his weapons, and was suffering
f