If horsemen were thundering toward the spot, the fugitive was doomed.
But, though seized with despair, he did not yield. On the contrary, he was nerved to such desperation that he put forth a tremendous effort, which quickly increased the space between him and the pursuer.
But instead of heading away from the coming animals, he turned directly toward them, at the same astonishing velocity. Why he did this, he himself did not fully understand. It may have been that, impressed with the utter uselessness of trying to escape by running, he had a blind hope of unhorsing one of his enemies and wrenching his steed from him.
He had taken only a few leaps, however, when he discovered that the beasts running forward, as if to meet him, were cattle.
Fully fifty animals, belonging to the herd several miles distant, had started out on a little stampede of their own, and fate brought them and him in collision.
It mattered not, for nothing could make the situation worse. The next instant Avon was among them, in imminent risk of being trampled to death. The beasts were terrified by the advent of the footman, and scattered in the wildest confusion.
While he was in such deadly peril, the animals served as a shield against the assault of the Comanche close behind him. Anxious as he was to secure the fugitive, he was not prepared to “cut him out” from a drove of stampeded cattle.
He turned to avoid the terrific rush, and catching fitful glimpses of the leaping form among the beasts, raised his gun and let fly.
His shot struck, but, instead of bringing down the youth, it tumbled one of the bullocks headlong on the plain. Avon would have turned at once to give attention to his enemy, had he not been fully occupied in saving himself from the animals themselves.