Riding, therefore, to the bottom of the slope, he spurred Thunderbolt to a sharp gait, and quickly covered the intervening space, which was hardly a fourth of a mile. His mustang showed no ill effects from the slight wounds received during the sharp scrimmage some time before.
Avon was well aware of the risk he ran, for, if the Comanches were maintaining guard, they could readily pick him off before he could withdraw or adopt the least precaution, but he did not hesitate. When the ground became more broken, he urged his pony a short way among the hills, and then dismounted. He did this, because he wished to 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.