In the meanwhile, never dreaming of the danger at hand, Captain Moore pursued his way up the other branch of the water-course. Here the underbrush was even more dense than where the boys were, and consequently he did not think it strange that he heard nothing of his brother and his cousin.
The fact that he stirred up no game nettled him, and he pushed on, determined to bring down something before he went back.
Suddenly he espied something moving in the patch of wood ahead of him. Rifle in hand, he moved cautiously in the direction.
As he did this, a man glided out from the bushes to his right and followed him as silently as a shadow.
The man was Gus Fetter. The desperado was fully armed, and his face was black with hatred of the young army officer.
As the wood was gained, Captain Moore paused to locate the object he had seen.
But before he could do this, he was caught from behind and his rifle was wrenched from his grasp.
"Fetter!" he ejaculated, as he caught sight of the desperado.
"Up with your hands, Captain Moore!" growled the rascal savagely. "Up, I say! I've got the drop on you!"
Fetter had thrown the captain's rifle to the ground, and now stood upon it. In his hands he held his own weapon, and the muzzle was aimed at the young officer's head.