At this moment the Texan heard something.

The noise could not have been any more distinct than that which had apprised the Comanche of his peril just in time to save himself. It was so faint, indeed, that it was not until he had listened a few seconds longer that he could decide the precise point whence it came.

It was at the same end of the cabin, but on the corner opposite to that where he had detected the warrior. The captain, therefore, was forced to peep over the edge of the peak, in order to hold his gaze on the point. This was easy enough, and, as he stealthily peered through the gloom, he levelled his weapon, in whose use he was as skilful as that of the Winchester.

He had decided in his mind the precise point where the head of the Indian would rise to view, and he was resolved not to throw away his chance this time. The moment he could make sure of his target, he would perforate it with several bullets, in order to prevent any possible mistake.

But, though the sound was repeated, the object itself failed to materialize. It was there, but he could not see it clearly enough to risk a shot.

Strange that, with all the Texan’s experience, this fact did not lead him to suspect the real cause of the warrior’s continued absence!

But at the moment he began speculating, he became convinced that his enemy was moving. He was there and had betrayed himself.

Everyone knows the extreme difficulty of seeing an object distinctly when the light is poor, and we concentrate our gaze upon it. That which is clear at first grows dim and perhaps vanishes altogether from sight.

Something of the kind is noticeable when we try to count the seven stars of the Pleiades. 129 It is easy enough to fix upon six, but if we gaze too intently, the seventh modestly withdraws from view.

This was the case for a minute or two with Captain Shirril. The first glance at the suspicious point showed him the outlines of a head, but while gazing at it, he began to doubt whether it was there at all. Aware of the peculiarity named, he turned his eyes toward a spot several feet removed, and then glanced back to the original point.

The Comanche was there!

The Texan sighted his pistol as best he could in the obscurity, but, while doing so with all care, the target began to grow dim, until he was afraid that, if he pressed the trigger, a miss would result, and surely he could not afford that.

“I’ll wait,” was his decision; “he can’t know that I’m on the watch, and there will be more of him in sight before long.”

It was remarkable indeed that the sagacious captain still failed to suspect the object of this strange proceeding.

There came the moment when there was no 130 cause for longer delay. The shoulders were in sight, and the skilful marksman was certain of bringing the warrior down with his first bullet.

But at the moment of firing, he was restrained by a strange suspicion, or rather a strange occurrence.

The head of the Comanche made an abrupt flirt to one side––then straightened up, flopped still more in the other direction, and then became upright again.

This was not only extraordinary, but it was something which a genuine Indian would never do, whether he belonged to the Comanche or some other tribe.

“Ah, ha––that’s your game, is it?” muttered the Texan, catching on to the truth.

The cunning red men were making use of a dummy instead of one of their own number, and, astounding as the statement may seem, this dummy was the very warrior that had fallen by the shot of Oscar Gleeson.

Instead of trusting the success of their scheme to an image made by mounting a blanket over the end of a stick, and which 131 might well deceive where there was so little light, they had picked up the inanimate body, lifted it upon the back of one of their mustangs, and slowly elevated it above the eaves, imitating the natural action as closely as they could.

However, they ought to have practiced the trick before risking so much on its success. Everything was going right, until the head reached a point where it was not advisable to support it further, since the hands thus employed were likely to receive some of the bullets they expected to be fired after it.

The withdrawal of the support caused it to tip to one side, and the too prompt effort to retrieve the mistake sent it in the opposite direction. This mishap was quickly repaired, but not until the deception had become manifest to the watchful Texan, who smiled grimly, without suspecting the deeper meaning of the performance.

“I don’t think I will throw away any shots on you” he said to himself; “for there will be plenty of other chances where more good may be done.”

A thoughtful man might have concluded that the Comanches were taking a good deal of unnecessary pains. Suppose the white man did send several bullets into the dummy, there was no hope of his exhausting his supply or of the Comanche finding him wholly unprepared.

They probably believed that, after such a discharge on his part, he would not expect an instant renewal of the attempt, and would, therefore, be off his guard for a few seconds, during which they could make their rush.

This was drawing it exceedingly fine, and the Texan did not attempt to explain that which must always remain a partial mystery.

“I wonder now whether that can be a little plan to hold my attention, while they try something in another direction,” was his next thought, which proved that Captain Shirril was at last approaching the right trail.

The image, or rather body, having been raised far enough above the eaves to show the head and shoulders, remained as stationary as if carved in wood. It was unsafe for its projectors to trust it further without support. It 133 was now ready to receive the fire of the gentleman, and the Comanches might well ask why it was he delayed opening business.

He kept it under scrutiny a few seconds longer, fearful that there might be some hidden design which he did not understand; and then, in obedience to his suspicion, he turned his head to look over the roof behind him.

At the moment of doing so, he heard a stealthy but rapid step. The first glance showed him a sinewy warrior, moving softly across the planking from the other end of the cabin and coming directly toward him.

The Comanche was in a crouching posture, with his rifle in his left hand, while his right rested on his hip, as if grasping the handle of his knife.

Supposing the dusky foe was coming for him, Captain Shirril rose to a half-sitting position, and held his revolver ready. He meant to wait until his enemy was so near that there could be no possibility of missing him.

Before that point was reached, the Comanche 134 would have to pass directly by the open scuttle. The Texan awaited his coming with the same coolness he had shown from the first, when to his inexpressible amazement the Indian dropped directly through the open door and drew it shut after him, with a suddenness like that of the snapping of a knife-blade.

And then it was that Captain Shirril read the meaning of that strange manoeuvring at the corner of the roof, and awoke to the fact that he had been completely outwitted.