age of a
foe. They would have allowed the trio to ride away unmolested, which is
just what the Comanches would not have done, had their situations been
reversed.

Avon Burnet was considering whether it was worth while to push his
search further, when, to his surprise, an exclamation broke upon his
ear, in the form of a vigorous "_Oofh!_" as nearly as it can be put in
letters.

He knew it came from the lips of an Indian, who was not far off, though
in a different direction from that taken by the warriors and their
wounded comrade. It was more to the south, though the penetrating glance
he cast in that direction failed to reveal the individual.

But it was heard again, and now, when he looked, he was able to catch
the dim outlines of a horse, walking slowly toward him.

"What's the matter with the Comanches to-night?" the puzzled youth asked
himself; "they seem to be up to all manner of tricks."

As the horseman gradually became more distinct, he saw that the rider
was in an odd quandary. He was striving to turn the animal in the
opposite direction, but he would not obey. He flung up his head,
sometimes reared angrily, and, though he maintained a walk, kept pushing
straight on toward the bush, despite the savage attempts of the rider to
make him wheel about.

A suspicion flashed through the mind of Avon. The man was an Indian
beyond question, and the horse could not be his own, for, if it were, he
would have obeyed him without urging. It must be one of the Texan horses
that he was trying to steal.

The youth uttered the familiar signal by which he was able at all times
to bring Thunderbolt to his side, when he was within hearing. The
mustang replied with a glad whinny, and broke into a trot straight for
his master. It was indeed his prized animal, with a Comanche warrior on
his back.

CHAPTER XXIII.

"GOOD-BY!"

The Comanche must have been disgusted. He had been trying for some time
to steal the mustang of Avon Burnet, with the result that the pony was
about to steal him, unless he prevented it offhand.

The Indian heard the whistle from the edge of the bush, and the instant
increase of speed, on the part of the stubborn mustang, made the meaning
clear to him. He did not know but that three or four Texans were waiting
in the mesquite, and that, if he stayed on the back of the steed a
minute longer, he would be carried directly into their arms.

Consequently he did not hesitate. He went off of Thund