Once or twice he started up a whistle, without thinking, but he suddenly recalled himself to his senses, and preserved his peace as well as the others.
He was subject to one annoyance, rather curious in its way. Every now and then a conviction came over him that something was following him. Sometimes he fancied that a Comanche was stealing on tip-toe, with tomahawk in hand, ready to hurl it at his bald pate. More than once he turned his head suddenly, expecting to confront the ugly phantom, but it seemed to whisk out of sight before he could fix his vision upon it.
Then he was certain it was a huge black bear, lumbering along, and only waiting for the opportunity to leap upon the haunches of his horse and claw them both to pieces.
This was curious, as Hans Bungslager was one of the least imaginative of men, and was rarely troubled with nightmare or phantoms of the brain, but the feeling followed him like his own shadow, and would not be shaken off.
He determined to wait until sure of what it was, and then to turn suddenly and shoot it. There was no danger now of hitting Katrina, Sebastian or any of his friends, for they were all in front of him. It must be an enemy beyond all question, and therefore it was his duty to put a ball through it at the very first opportunity.
The party had gone some distance, when a light was observed in the sky, of so lurid a character, as to show that there was some large conflagration.
"See what we have escaped," whispered the Texan, as he turned to look at it, and ventured to press the hand of the girl beside him.
"Have they found out that we have fled?"
"Perhaps so, and perhaps not; they wouldn't hesitate to roast us in such a bonfire, if they could only get the opportunity."
"It is then our house that is burning?"