"White man, let brother in."
Then they knocked again.
"Poor Injin come long way—he tired—white brudder, let him come in—won't stay long."
No response being made, one of the savages lifted the latch and entered, and as a matter of course, was not long in discovering that the cabin was deserted. The moonlight, too, told the story of precipitate flight, as the red-skins could see that their coming had been expected and prepared for.
Learning that much, there was nothing left for the Comanches to do, except to come out again. Carsfield could see them very distinctly, standing side by side, and the guttural mumble of their voices was plainly audible, as they discussed some point in their own tongue.
The Texan supposed it was as to whether they should burn the building or not. He made up his mind that if they attempted to do it, he would shoot the one who made the first move, relying upon his knife and pistol to deal with the other.
As it was, by changing his own position somewhat, he could get both of them in range, and he nervously grasped his rifle, asking himself whether he should make the shot or not. Two considerations only restrained him.
It was probable that a large body of Comanches were within call, and that the shot would be the signal for them to swarm to the spot. If Katrina were still wandering somewhere in the woods, her danger would be greatly increased, and so he held the shot which, had he fired, would have changed the whole course of succeeding events.
For something like fifteen minutes the red-skins occupied their position, and then they walked away with the indifference that had characterized their coming.
Carsfield had fought these daring marauders before, and it was a great trial for him to permit them to walk away unmolested when he had it in his power to punish them so well for their temerity.