Scarcely fifteen minutes had passed when every man was upon his mustang, and the females, with their offspring, were distributed among them. Lightning Jo and Egbert Rodman placed themselves at their head, and the scout cautiously led the way through another narrow pass for something like a quarter of a mile, when they reached the open prairie once more.
“And now go,” he added, “and never pause or look back until you ride into the stockade of Fort Adams.”
And his advice was taken and followed almost to the letter; but, even then it is impossible to imagine whether they would have succeeded in reaching the shelter after all without being harassed by the Comanches, but for the fact that ere they had gone three miles they met a party of rescue sent out by Colonel Cleaves, who had become alarmed at their failure to come in during the night. Under the escort of this powerful company of cavalry, the journey was completed in safety, and we now bid them good-by at the friendly fort and turn our attention to those in whom we have a more immediate interest.
CHAPTER XXIII. COMANCHE HONOR.
With the departure of Captain Shields and his party, Lightning Jo and Egbert Rodman set about the task of trailing the missing maiden, if such a proceeding lay within the range of human possibility.
There was something strange and mysterious in this failure upon the part of all to discover any traces of her or her horse. Had both or either of them been dead, this scarcely could have been the case. Every member of the party, excepting herself, had been accounted for, and was either buried in the quiet grave among the hills or else was within the stockade of Fort Adams, beyond the reach of the Comanches in the South-west.
“Where can she be?”
This was the question that the two men put to each other and to themselves a score of times in as many minutes, and to which no satisfactory answer could be given. All was conjecture, and even that was of the most vague nature.
Lightning Jo had very little to say, but he was in deep thought as he moved morbidly about, with his eyes upon the ground, seeking out some clue by which he might take up the hunt for Lizzie, with some slight probability at least of success.