“Every one of them––where’s Shackaye?” abruptly asked the captain, as if the naming of the tribe had recalled that interesting youth to his mind.
“I shouldn’t wonder if he were among them,” replied Avon, with a certain grim pleasure, as he recalled the faith his uncle had shown in the savage in the face of Gleeson’s warnings.
“Like enough,” remarked the captain, watching the actions of the warriors, who had diverged so far already that it was impossible for the couple to escape in any direction without coming in collision with them; “we’ve got to stand them off.”
Without any appearance of alarm in his manner Captain Shirril slipped down from his saddle, his nephew being but a few seconds behind him, and the two coolly prepared to make a stand against the attack of the Comanches.
CHAPTER XXX.
AT BAY.
Captain Shirril and his nephew placed their ponies beside each other, with a space of only a few feet intervening. Then, standing on the ground, they rested their Winchesters across the saddles, facing in opposite directions, and were ready for the assault of the red men, who were circling back and forth and gradually drawing nearer to them.
“Keep cool,” said the captain, “and, when you fire, don’t throw away a shot.”