There was nothing to cause on the part of the cowboys in camp, when they heard the report of a single rifle from beyond the over which Captain Shirril, Avon Burnet, and the young Comanche Shackaye had ridden in pursuit of the cattle that went astray the night before. One of the party might have found a chance to bring down something in the nature of game, which is liable to be encountered at every part of the Great Cattle Trail, from the of the capital of Texas to its termination in the State of Kansas.  
But when, soon after, the shots came thick and fast, it was apparent that something unusual was going on.
 
“There’s afoot!” called out Gleeson, “and that Comanche is at the bottom of it. Come, boys!”
 
 
There was not an instant’s on the part of any member of the company. The cattle that were quietly on the succulent grass were left to wander off or stampede themselves, or do whatever they chose, while the cowboys, including Nunez, the Mexican, swung into their saddles and sped away on a dead run toward the ridge.
 
Before they reached it the missing cattle came up from the other side and appeared on the . The of the that had suffered so at the hands of Avon Burnet imparted a mild panic to the others, so that the whole lot were on a . The horsemen were in too great haste to turn aside, and the animals, therefore, to the right and continued their brisk gait in the direction of the main .
 
As has been said, every mustang was running at the highest speed, but the impetuous Gleeson maintained his place in front, and thundered up the slope as if his own life were at stake. Before he struck the crest, he rose in his box-stirrups and peered over at the plain beyond.
 
 
“Just what I expected!” he exclaimed, “and that Shackaye has done it!”
 
It was not necessary to explain, for, before he could have done so, his comrades caught sight of the stirring scene which thrilled their leader. Captain Shirril and his nephew were off a party of dusky assailants, who were pressing them hard. The two mustangs were plainly seen, while the flashes of the Winchesters from behind them told the story as as if the cowboys were actual participants in the affray.
 
Not another word was uttered by the latter, but pressing their spurs deep into the flanks of their horses they sent them with arrowy haste straight toward the spot. They had hardly reached the base of the slope when they held their breath, for they saw the crisis had come. The red men were closing around the two combatants as if they realized that whatever was to be must be done within the succeeding few seconds.
 
Half the distance was passed, when the Comanches were observed toward a mass of hills hardly a half-mile distant. They rode so closely that the cowboys failed to note the fact that they bore a prisoner with them.
 
In such emergencies a party of American Indians generally manage to carry off their dead and wounded, but the haste was too urgent in this case. The figures were left stretched on the prairies where they had fallen, and a number of animals also lay motionless near. The wounded were taken care of, but the dead were left to bury the dead.
 
The cowboys discharged a score of shots at the Comanches, but the distance was too great to accomplish anything, and, seeing that it was impossible to overtake them before they reached the shelter of the wooded hills, Gleeson led the party toward the spot where they believed their friends needed instant care.
 
The horses, and a partial glimpse of a figure lying between them, caused the rescuers to believe that the captain and his nephew were either or badly hurt.
 
The approaching mustangs kept up their run until they were thrown on their haunches with such suddenness that the shock seemed to fling the riders from their saddles. They leaped forward, and vigorous arms quickly lifted the body of the captain’s horse from off young Burnet, who opened his eyes and looked up with that faint wildness which showed he had no conception of the situation.
 
“Where’s the captain?”
 
This was the question that was asked by several, as all glared around for their leader. Before anyone attempted an answer, others examined the nephew and found he was without a wound. He had swooned under the sudden pressure of the horse shot by his uncle, but he quickly recovered, and, after being assisted to his feet and shaking himself together, everything came back to him. Turning to Thunderbolt he ordered him to rise, and the animal obeyed. He had received a couple of flesh-wounds, which stung him for the moment without incapacitating him for effective service.
 
Then, in as few words as possible, Avon told his story. He remembered that his uncle was wounded before his horse was killed, and it was self-evident to everyone that the poor man had been carried off by the Comanches.
 
“Did you see Shackaye among ’em?” asked Gleeson, his face like a thunder-cloud.
 
“He was not with those who attacked us; I could not have failed to see him if he had been.”
 
“But what became of him? He started off with you, and you must have parted somewhere on the road.”
 
Young Burnet now told about Shackaye’s encounter with the steer which came near him. Avon’s pursuit of the other troublesome animal withdrew all attention from him, and there was no certainty of the manner of his , which, to say the least, was extraordinary.
 
But the absence of Captain Shirril forbade that the cowboys should waste time in idleness. every eye was turned toward the hills to the among which the Comanches had vanished with their captive.
 
“They haven’t had time to go far,” said Zach Collis, “and if we ride hard we shall soon run ’em............