Swico could not fail to know the meaning of the flight of Gibbons through his lines. He must know that he was making all haste to Fort Adams for succor, and that, if he did not speedily complete the awful business he had taken in hand, without much longer delay, the chances were that he would be disputed and compelled to fight a third party.
The prairie continued quite level, with dry grass that did not prevent a cloud of dust arising from the hoofs of the horses. The plain was broken here and there by ridges and hills, some of the latter of considerable elevation. Between these the rescuing parties were compelled frequently to pass, some of them being so close together that the thought of an ambuscade was instantly suggested to the mind of every one.
But Jo was not the man to go it blind into any contrivance that the red-skins might set to entrap him, and his practiced eye made certain that all was right before he exposed his brave men to such danger.
He was rather expecting some flank movement upon the part of his old enemy, but he was disposed to believe that, whatever plan he adopted, he would not “try it on” until the whites reached the vicinity of Dead Man’s Gulch.
“Mebbe he’s got things fixed to tumble us in there too,” he thought to himself; “and mebbe ef he has, he’ll find his flint will miss fire.”
The company galloped steadily forward until something like three-fourths of the distance was passed, and the sun was low in the west. They were riding along at the same rattling pace, all on the alert for signs of their enemies, and they were just “rising” a swell of moderate elevation, flanked on both sides by still higher hills, when the peremptory voice of Lightning Jo was heard, ordering a halt.
The command was obeyed with extraordinary precision, and every man knew as if by instinct that trouble was at hand. Naturally enough their eyes were turned toward the hills, as if expecting to see a band of Comanches swarming down upon them, and in imagination they heard the bloodcurdling yells, as they poured tumultuously over the elevations, exulting in the work of death at their hands.
But all was still, nor could they detect any thing to warrant fear, although the manner of Lightning Jo indicated clearly that such was the case.
He did not keep them long in suspense.
“Some of the Comanches are there,” remarked Lightning Jo, in his offhand manner; “whether old Swico himself is among ’em or not, I can’t say till I go forward and find out. Keep your guns and pistols ready, for there may be a thousand of ’em down on ye afore ye know it.”