Avon Burnet waited several minutes after the light went out, in the hope that it would reappear and give him an indication of its nature and cause; but darkness continued, and he concluded that his first suspicion was right: some warrior in riding over the prairie had halted to light his cigar or pipe, and then ridden on to join his comrades near the cabin.

The youth was in the situation of the mariner who finds himself adrift in mid-ocean, without compass or rudder. Neither the sky nor the ground gave him any help, and in order to reach the camp of his friends he must, under Heaven, rely upon his own skill.

“There’s one thing certain,” he concluded, “I shall never get there without making a 78 break. I have secured a pretty good horse, and I may as well turn him to account.”

Heading in the direction which seemed right, he tapped the ribs of the mustang with his heels, and he broke at once into a sweeping gallop, which, if rightly directed, was sure to carry him to his destination in a brief while.

Though it was too much for the young man to believe he was following the true course, he thought it was near enough for him to discover the variation before riding far. He ought to reach the crest of some elevation which would so extend his view that he would catch the gleam of the camp fire of the cattlemen.

As the pony galloped forward with that swinging gait which he was able to maintain for hours without fatigue, the rider glanced to the right and left, in front and rear, on guard lest he ran into unexpected danger, and guarding against the approach of one or more of his foes. His horse was tractable, but the rider was disturbed now and then by his actions.

While going with his swift gait, he occasionally checked his speed so abruptly that, had the young Texan been a less skilful equestrian, he would have pitched over his head. At such times he pricked his ears, and snuffed and threw up his head, as though frightened at something. But strive all he could, Avon failed to discover the cause of this peculiar behavior. He could neither hear nor see anything to explain it.

Our young friend was so keenly on the alert that he was quick to notice that they were ascending quite a swell in the plain. He drew the mustang down to a walk, and when at the highest point of the elevation, brought him to a stand-still.

No poor sailor, floating on a plank, ever strove harder to pierce the gloom in quest of a friendly light, than did Avon. His first glance in the direction which seemed to him to be right failed to show that which he longed to see. Then he slowly swept the horizon with the same searching scrutiny.

Not the first star-like glimmer rewarded him. Blank darkness enclosed him on every 80 hand. It was right above, below, to the right and left and to the front and rear.

“Well, I’ll be shot if this doesn’t beat everything!” was his exclamation, when he came to understand his helplessness; “it looks as if I would have done the folks a great deal more good if I had stayed with them.”

Slipping down from the back of his mustang, which he took care to hold by means of the halter, Avon pressed his ear to the earth, as is the practice of those in a similar situation.

At first he thought he detected the sounds of hoofs, but the next moment he knew it was only fancy. The better conductor in the form of the ground told him no more than did the gloom that surrounded him.

While thus engaged, the mustang tugged at the rope, as if wishing to free himself. He must have felt that he was controlled by a strange hand, but his efforts were easily restrained.

As nearly as Avon could judge, he had travelled more than two miles since leaving the cabin, so that, provided he had followed 81 the proper course, he must have passed half the distance. But if that were the case, he ought to see signs of the camp. It is the custom of the cattlemen, when on the move, to keep a lantern suspended from the front of the provision wagon, to serve as a guide for the rest, and this ought to be visible for several miles to one in his elevated position.

Holding the thong in one hand, the youth now pointed his Winchester toward the sky and discharged several barrels, in the hope that the reports would reach the ears of the Texans and bring a response from them. The mustang did not stir a muscle; he was so accustomed to that sort of thing that his nerves were not disturbed.

This appeal was equally futile, and, as Avon flung himself again upon the back of his horse, a feeling akin to despair came over him.

“Perhaps it was quite an exploit to get through the Comanche lines without harm,” he said to himself, “but of what avail? I shall wander round and round until daylight, with no more knowledge of where I am than 82 if I were groping among the Rocky Mountains; and, long before the rise of sun, the fate of Uncle Dohm and the folks will be settled.”

A feeling of exasperation succeeded his depression of spirits. It was beyond endurance that he should be so near help and yet be unable to secure it. If he could but gain an inkling of the right course, he would dart across the prairie with the speed of an arrow.

He had neglected no possible means of informing himself. Recalling the direction of the wind, he strove to make use of that; but as if even the elements had united against him, he was not long in discovering that the wind was fitful and changing, and his attempt to use it as a guide had much to do with his going so far astray.

The rifle was discharged again, but the listening ear caught no response, and the conviction forced itself upon him that, instead of journeying toward the camp, he was really further from it than when he started.

The mustang began to grow restless once more. Avon spoke sharply, and started him 83 off without any attempt to guide him. To his surprise, the steed turned to the left almost at right angles, and without any urging on his part, broke into a canter.

“I don’t understand that,” said the rider; “he certainly knows more than I do, but it is too much to expect him to carry me to my destination without any direction from me. But he is as likely to be right as wrong, and so I’ll let him do as he chooses. You’re a mighty fine animal,” continued the youth, as the steed broke into a gallop, “but I wouldn’t give Thunderbolt for a hundred like you; he knows something, and when I’m caught in a fix like this, he is sure to help me out.”

The youth feared that the mustang was trying to return to his master. He, therefore, brought him down to a walk, though he broke into a canter more than once, and leaning forward, peered through the gloom, on the alert for the first sign of danger.

“Uncle Dohm believed the Comanches meant to set fire to the house; if he hadn’t thought so, I wouldn’t have been in this 84 plight; it strikes me that it is about time they made a start; if they do so, I will take a hand in that little game.”

At the first glow anywhere in the sky, telling of the use of the torch, Avon would have driven his mustang thither like the whirlwind, and it is safe to believe that his Winchester would have done more effective service than ever before. But the bright eyes which continually scanned every portion of the murky heavens caught no glimmer of a single star.

The mustang gave a slight whinny and rose to a canter again, but was roughly checked by his new master.

“What the mischief is the matter with you?”

Just then, something took shape in the gloom ahead. Avon stopped his steed and leaned forward. Yes; it was unmistakable.

There it stood––a long, low cabin, whose familiar contour told the alarming fact that he had come back to his starting-point, and was among the Comanches in front of his own home!