The Comanches were not men of wood to sit still upon their animals, and remain targets for one of the most skillful riflemen living.
Identifying their assailant by means of his yell, they instantly scattered, as if a bombshell had landed among them, and they scampered down the other side of an adjoining hill, and out of sight of Jo, carrying their fallen comrade with them.
This, it would seem, ought to have satisfied the scout, but it did not. He suspected that a larger party of Indians was in the neighborhood, and determined to make sure before returning to his men.
The actions of the Comanches seemed to indicate that they were about making an attempt to surround him, and he made ready to guard against it.
“Let ’em surround me! I feel wolfish to-day, and I think it’ll do me good to let off some of my extra steam among ’em.”
He gazed furtively over his shoulder, nevertheless, for he had no wish to be taken off his guard, in such a desperate encounter as this was certain to prove, in case a collision occurred.
His mustang stepped very carefully, with his head raised and his ears pricked, for he fully felt the delicacy of the situation, and knew that at any moment they were liable to be enveloped by a horde of their enemies.
The sagacity of the horse was the first to give notice of the approach of danger. He was stepping stealthily along, his senses on the alert, when he suddenly paused, with a slight whinny.
At the same instant, Lightning Jo caught a peculiar sound, as if made by the grating of a horse’s hoof upon the gravel, and he turned his head with the quickness of lightning.
There they were, sure enough!