The mesquite bush was not vigorous enough to offer much obstruction to the mustangs, though it was much more objectionable than the open plain.

The horses could plunge through it, almost as if it were so much tall gra.s.s, besides which it gave something of shelter to the Comanches, who were now fleeing for their lives.

Flinging themselves forward on the necks of their steeds, who were as fleet as those of their pursuers, with the brush swaying on all sides, they became such bad targets that only chance or wonderful skill could tumble them to the earth.

Gleeson was so close to the savage he had singled out as his special target, and his own steed coursed so swiftly through the bush, that it looked as if he would down his man. The fugitive was hardly visible, as he stretched forward, not upon his horse's neck, but along the further side and almost under it. About the only part of his person within reach was his foot, the toes of which were curved over the spine of his animal, and his left arm, which clasped the neck from below.

It was useless, therefore, for the Texan to try any sort of aim, and when he discharged his pistol now and then, until the chambers were emptied, it was with the same hope as before, that by accident one of the missiles would reach home.

But this little amus.e.m.e.nt was not to be entirely on the side of the pursuer. Suddenly there was a flash beneath the neck of the mustang, a resounding report, and the bullet grazed the temple of the enthusiastic cowboy.

"Well done, old fellow," he muttered, shoving his smaller weapon in his holster, and bringing his Winchester round in front; "it makes things more lively when they are not one-sided."

He bent forward, and, sighting as best he could, fired. A whinnying scream rang out in the confusion, and the mustang plunged forward on his knees and rolled over on his side, stone dead because of the bullet that had bored its way through his brain.

Such a mishap would have been fatal to the majority of riders, but the wonderful activity of the Comanche saved him from harm because of the fall of his animal. He struck the ground on his feet, and showed a tremendous burst of speed, as he took up the interrupted flight of his horse, keeping straight on, without darting to the right or left.

"I've got you now," exclaimed the exultant Texan, holding the nose of his animal toward him.

Astonishing as was the fleetness of the Comanche, it could not equal that of the intelligent mustang, that knew what was needed from him. He wanted no guidance from his rider, who was therefore left free to manipulate his Winchester as best he could with the brush whipping about him.

All at once the gun was brought to his shoulder, but, before it was fired, the Indian dropped his head, dodged to one side, and vanished as if by magic.

Where he had gone was a mystery to the Texan, whose steed checked himself so suddenly that the rider was nearly thrown from his saddle.

There was so much noise and confusion that Gleeson could not hear clearly, but something caused him to turn his head, under the impression that he detected a movement near at hand.

He was just in time to catch a glimpse of the Comanche, darting through the bush in a direction almost the opposite of that which he had been following so long.

"How the mischief did you get there?" was the astonished exclamation of the Texan, as he again brought his rifle to a level.

At the moment of doing so, he comprehended how it all came about. The Comanche had darted directly under the mustang, doing so with a quickness and skill that baffled the eye of his foe. Few, even of his own people, could have performed the exploit which he executed with perfection.

Ballyhoo Gleeson lowered his gun.

"You can go! I'll be hanged if you don't deserve to get away after _that_ trick!"

CHAPTER XXII.

THUNDERBOLT.

Avon Burnet knew that when the cattlemen reached a point within a half mile of his home, and the fire had not yet been started, that all danger was over. It was beyond the power of the a.s.sailants, with the slight time at their command, to harm the defenders.

Then naturally his thoughts turned to his mustang Thunderbolt, that had been left in the mesquite bush with the animal belonging to his uncle.

The chances were that the Comanches had captured both, but he was not without hope regarding his own pony.

The steed was so intelligent that he was certain to resist the approach of a stranger at night, especially if he were an Indian. The redskins were so occupied in trying to encompa.s.s the death of the Texan and his family, besides being well supplied with their own steeds, that they were not likely to put forth much effort to capture a single animal.

The youth was as eager as his companions to do his part in driving off the red men, but the chance was denied him. The spare horse which he rode, and which he put to his best pace, could not hold his own with the rest, and consequently he arrived at the rear of the procession.

He glanced right and left, but caught the outlines of but one figure, whose ident.i.ty he suspected, because he was standing in front of the cabin door.

"h.e.l.loa, uncle, is that you?"

"Yes, Avon; I see you have arrived; I hope you suffered no harm."

"Matters were stirring for a time, but I am safe."

At this moment, Mrs. Shirril and Dinah, recognizing the voice, opened the door, the captain inviting them to come outside.

The fire was now burning so briskly on the hearth that the interior was well illuminated, so that their figures were plainly stamped against the yellow background.

"There isn't anything left for you to do," said the captain, "so you may as well dismount."

The firing, shouts, and yells came from a remote point in the bush, and were rapidly receding.

Avon came down from his saddle, kissed his aunt, shook hands with his uncle, and spoke kindly to Dinah, who was proud of the handsome fellow.

"Uncle," said he briskly, "what do you suppose, has become of your horse Jack and Thunderbolt?"

"Taken off by the Comanches, or killed."

"I suppose that is probable, but I shall make a search for them."

Believing this could be done better on foot, he left the pony in charge of his relative and walked hastily into the bush.

"I don't suppose there is much hope, but I have an idea that maybe Thunderbolt has been wounded and needs looking after. The bullets have been flying pretty thickly during the last few minutes, and for that matter," he added, pausing a few seconds to listen, "they are not through yet."

On the edge of the bush he encountered a horseman, whose voice, when hailed, showed that he was "Jersey."

"What's the trouble?" asked Avon, pausing to exchange words with his friend.

"Aint nothing more to do," was the response; "the varmints are travelling faster than this horse can go, though he was one of their animals."

"How was that?"

"I got it in the neck--that is my critter did. I had one of them pretty well pinned, when he fired from under his horse's belly and my pony went down, as dead as a doornail. I came mighty nigh being mashed under him, but I dropped the other chap, for all I couldn't see him when I drew bead. I 'spose it was a chance shot, but the minute he went off his horse got so bewildered he didn't know what to do with himself. While he was trotting about, I catched him, put my bridle on him without trouble, and here I am, Baby."

"Sure he isn't one of ours?" asked Avon, approaching still nearer and looking him over as well as he could in the darkness.

"He is now, but he wasn't fifteen minutes ago."

Knowing that he was not Thunderbolt, the youth was hopeful that it might prove Jack; but it took only a minute to learn that Jersey was right.

The steed had been brought to the spot by one of the Comanches and was a fine animal, though so much time pa.s.sed before the Texan secured him that he was simply prudent in not trying to follow after the red men, who were far beyond reach.

Jersey laughed when Avon told him his errand, but said he would not be much surprised if he was successful, for the reasons which have been already stated.