THROUGH THE NIGHT.

WHILE Herbert Watrous lay on the ground, at the top of the elevation, with the Texans waiting for the return of the old trapper, he asked Strubell to explain their action on the night of the first norther, when they sent him and Nick through the hills to the other side.

“Well,” replied the cowboy, “our first purpose was to have you out of the way when the scrimmage took place, for we knew it was coming sure.”

“But you said you had no trouble with Rickard and his gang.”

“And we didn’t; off in another direction was a party of Comanches that must have taken us for their own warriors, for they began signalling in a way that made it look so. We answered their signals, but they found out the trick before we could trap them. However, they were out for game, and they came at us in the evening. It isn’t worth while to give the particulars,” added the Texan significantly, “but when the fun opened it wasn’t long before the red gentlemen found out their mistake. They rode off—that is, some of them did—and that was all.”

“But what of Rickard and his men?”

“While we were having the row with the Comanches they played a clever trick on us. They got round through the ridge, without our suspecting it till next morning, and walked off with Nick.”

“They might as well have captured both of us,” said Herbert, “and I have often wondered that they did not.”

“They took the highest priced one,” observed Strubell, with a chuckle, “but I guess there was another reason. Bell had a spite against Nick, and meant to put him out of the way if he couldn’t fix the ransom business. While the main thing was money with him, it wasn’t that alone.”

This point in the story was reached when the three heard the report of old Eph’s pistol, which rang out on the night with startling distinctness. It was nearer the building than the elevation where the friends were awaiting the return of the trapper.

“By gracious!” exclaimed Strubell in an excited undertone, “I can’t stay here, knowing he needs our help, for all he told us to do so.”

“And I feel the same way,” added Lattin, rising partly to his feet, “but what about leaving Herbert here?”

It was this thought that held the two for a moment, but the youth hastened to say:

“If you can do him any good, go at once; I am in no danger.”

“I think not, but I aint sure. If anything disturbs you,” added the elder, “mount your horse and make off; your pony can go as fast as any of theirs.”

But for the belief, confirmed by the action of the Apaches, that they did not suspect the presence of the whites, neither Strubell nor Lattin would have allowed Herbert to be alone; but they knew that if they were to help the trapper not a second was to be lost.

Instead of mounting their animals, they hurried down the slope on foot, breaking into a run, or rather loping trot, which enabled them to cover much ground with little noise, as their feet pressed the greensward.

The distance was considerable, and when they approached the spot where the pistol had been fired, they slackened their pace, listening and peering into the gloom, which was so deep that they could see no more than fifty feet in any direction.

“This must be near the place,” whispered Lattin, “but where is he?”

“It’s a good sign if we can’t find him, though I don’t understand why he used his pistol unless he was in trouble.”

As nearly as they could judge, they were within two or three hundred yards of the building. It was so easy to err as to the point whence the report had come that they paused, undecided what to do.

Darkness was on every hand. Not the first outlines of the structure could be distinguished, nor was there a glimpse of any man or animal. The stars were shining brightly in the clear sky, and their light was all that guided their progress.

“We’ll go a little further,” said Strubell in the same guarded undertone, “but we must be on the watch, for we’re in a bad place ourselves.”

“Sh!” At that moment, they caught the sound of a horse’s hoofs, their experience telling them the animal was on a gallop. The noise was faint—quickly dying out, thus showing that the pony was receding instead of approaching. Nothing, therefore, was to be feared from the rider of that particular animal.

To guard against passing their friend, the Texans now separated a few paces, taking care to keep within sight of each other. They pushed forward at a moderate walk, on the alert for the first evidence of danger.

A couple of rods were traversed in this manner when Lattin, who was on the left, emitted a faint hissing sound. At the same instant he sank to the ground, and Strubell was hardly a second behind him in doing the same. He saw nothing, but he knew that his friend did.

A form so dim, shadowy, and indistinct that he could trace nothing more than its outlines took shape in the gloom itself, a short distance in front of Lattin, who was so quick to utter the warning to his companion. It was not a horseman, but a man on foot.

The suspicion that it might be the trapper caused the Texan to give another faint call—so faint indeed that the alert ear of an Apache would not have noticed it. Old Eph would be sure, however, to read its meaning.

But the reply was not satisfactory. Instead of answering it with a similar signal, the silence was not broken, and, while the Texan was peering into the darkness, he became aware that he was staring at vacancy. The form had melted into the gloom—proof that it was moving in another direction.

“It must have been one of the varmints,” whispered Lattin, as he stepped noiselessly to the side of his friend, “but I didn’t s’pose they was walkin’ round instead of ridin’ their animals.”

“They must suspect something; I guess Eph got through, after all.”

“We’ll go a little further,” said Lattin, turning to the left again; “maybe he’s hurt so bad he can’t help himself.”

The stillness continued, until once more they came together with the decision to return to the elevation where they had left Herbert. The fact that the Apaches were moving about on foot caused uneasiness concerning him, and they thought it best to return at once.

“Do you see it?” asked Strubell.

“Yes; we’re further along than I thought.”

It was the old mission building to which they alluded. It loomed to view in the darkness, its outlines dimly traceable against the starlit sky beyond. Not the first glimmer of a light showed, nor could the strained ear catch the semblance of a sound. But for that glimpse of the man on foot they would have believed the Apaches had departed with the coming of night.

It was idle to stay longer, and they turned about, moving off with the same care displayed from the first, for they were more anxious than either would confess to rejoin the youth, further away than they wished was the case.

The result of their venture did much to relieve them of fear concerning Eph Bozeman, though it was not altogether satisfactory. He might have collided with several Apaches on foot, and been despatched. It was impossible in the darkness to strike the exact spot where the meeting occurred, and, for aught they knew, the body of the old trapper was lying at that moment, cold and lifeless, with the face upturned to the stars.

As the distance from the building increased, the Texans hastened their footsteps, and it was a striking proof of their skill in such delicate situations that they came back to the elevation within a rod of the spot where they had left it. Without anything to guide them, except that strange, unexplainable intuition or instinct, this was a remarkable exploit in its way.

But to their alarm, when they peered about them, after recognizing the place, they failed to see Herbert.

“Something must have alarmed him,” said Strubell; “but I hope it was nothing serious.”

“We’ll soon know,” said Lattin, who moved hastily back to where the horses had been placed. He was away but a moment when he came back.

“The ponies are all there but his; he’s gone.”