He was right, for hardly had he begun creeping forward, when the head and shoulders of a man slowly rose between him and the horses, and in a direct line with the camp fire, which revealed the upper part of his body as distinctly as if stamped with ink against the yellow background of flame.
“It’s a white man,” was Nick’s conclusion, “and he is there for no good.”
The presence of the intruder now helped the youth in his hurried but stealthy approach; for, when the horses showed additional excitement, perhaps, at the coming of a second person, the stranger would believe it was caused wholly by himself. Apprehending no approach, too, from the rear, he would give no attention to that direction, but keep his eye on the camp to be ready for any demonstration from that quarter.
It is quite possible that he saw Nick when he withdrew beyond the light, but he had no reason to suspect he had flanked him and passed round to the other side.
It took the sentinel but a few more minutes to satisfy himself of the errand of the intruder. Nick’s own pony was approached and obliged to rise to his feet. The stranger was a horse thief, making a stealthy raid upon the camp, while all the campers but one were asleep.
Taking the head of Nick’s horse, he was in the act of flinging himself upon his bare back, when the youth stepped forward in the gloom and called out:
“Hands up, quicker than lightning!”
Nick imitated as nearly as he could the voice and manner of one of the Texans when making a similar startling demand.