ar for comfort, and Avon, with the same
noiseless movement, slipped beyond the corner of the house.

As he did so, he felt for an instant that all was over. An Indian
brushed so near that the youth could have touched him by extending his
hand.

How he escaped discovery was more than he could understand. It must have
been that the warrior's attention was so fixed upon the two figures at
the front of the house that he did not glance to the right or left. Even
such an explanation hardly makes clear the oversight on the part of one
belonging to a race proverbial for its alertness and keen vision.

Before the young man recovered from his shock, he was astounded by
another occurrence a hundred-fold more inexplicable. The profound
stillness was suddenly broken by the ringing report of a rifle on the
other side of the building, accompanied by the wild cry which caused the
listening Captain Shirril and his wife to believe it meant the death of
their devoted nephew.

While the captain committed a grave mistake, for which he was excusable,
Avon was equally at fault, and with as good if not a better reason. Not
dreaming it possible that he could have a friend near the cabin and on
the outside, he supposed the shot was fired by the captain to create a
diversion in his favor.

While such, as the reader knows, was not the case, yet it served that
commendable purpose.

The death-shriek of the stricken Comanche was still in the air, when,
assuming a crouching posture, the youth made a dash for cover. He
expected every moment that other rifles would be fired and he would be
headed off. He could hardly understand it, therefore, when he felt the
bushes strike his face, and he knew that he was among the mesquite,
without suffering harm.

He would have continued his flight, had not the sounds in front shown
that while he had been wonderfully fortunate up to this point, he had
run almost into a group of his enemies.

The dense shadows of the bushes prevented him from seeing them, else
they assuredly would have observed him, but, determined to go forward
now at all hazards, and eager to seize the flimsiest thread of hope, he
sank down on his hands and knees, anxious to continue his flight, but
waiting to learn in what direction it should be made, if indeed it could
be made at all.

There was one hope which he felt he must give up. The possibility of
finding Thunderbolt, and using the matchless steed in his flight to the
camp of the