The young man had looked but a moment, when he detected a party of horsemen moving in a southwesterly direction. They were so far away that it was impossible to identify them; but there was scarcely a doubt of their being Indians, and most probably the very ones for whom Lightning Jo was searching.
“Well, you see them, do you?” was the question of Jo, as he looked around and started to move away. “I s’pose you know ’em, too?”
“I suspect that they are Indians; but I conclude that not from any certain knowledge of my own, but simply infer it.”
“Yes; they’re the Comanches that left the hills before daylight. Swico-Cheque, the biggest red devil that walks the earth, is at their head. He’s got enough of butting his head ag’in’ United States soldiers, and he’s off to recruit his health.”
“But what of her—of Lizzie?” asked Egbert, in a trembling voice, dreading to hear the answer that he was almost sure would come.
“Why, she’s with him, of course. He’ll keep her till he gets tired of her, and then he’ll have some more fringe for his hunting-shirt.”
These words were uttered in the very desperation of vengefulness, and the scout wheeled about with a spiteful air, and exclaimed:
“Stay here till I come back! If you see any of the infarnal copper-skins, bore a hole through ’em. If you see anybody, break his head! Look out for yourself! keep cautious, and rest easy till I come back. I won’t be gone long.”
And with this rather contradictory advice, Lightning Jo wheeled about, plunged down the hill, and was gone almost on the instant.