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 slaying him. Avon's pursuit of the other troublesome
animal withdrew all attention from him, and there was no certainty
of the manner of his disappearance, which, to say the least, was
extraordinary.

But the absence of Captain Shirril forbade that the cowboys should waste
time in idleness. Instinctively every eye was turned toward the hills to
the eastward 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 down."

"But is it best to try that?" was the question of Ward Burrell, or Old
Bronze.

Gleeson, who was naturally looked upon as the leader, shook his head.
"They'll brain him the minute there's a chance of losing him."

"But why did they take him off and spare _me_?" asked the astonished
Avon.

"They thought you was dead and so didn't bother with you."

"Why did they make him prisoner instead of doing what they had been
trying so long to do--kill him?"

"He's of more account than you; _he_ was the chap they was after, and
not _you_."

"It looked for a time as though they had desi