“I’ll wait,” was his decision; “he can’t know that I’m on the watch, and there will be more of him in sight before long.”
It was remarkable indeed that the sagacious captain still failed to suspect the object of this strange proceeding.
There came the moment when there was no 130 cause for longer delay. The shoulders were in sight, and the skilful marksman was certain of bringing the warrior down with his first bullet.
But at the moment of firing, he was restrained by a strange suspicion, or rather a strange occurrence.
The head of the Comanche made an abrupt flirt to one side––then straightened up, flopped still more in the other direction, and then became upright again.
This was not only extraordinary, but it was something which a genuine Indian would never do, whether he belonged to the Comanche or some other tribe.
“Ah, ha––that’s your game, is it?” muttered the Texan, catching on to the truth.
The cunning red men were making use of a dummy instead of one of their own number, and, astounding as the statement may seem, this dummy was the very warrior that had fallen by the shot of Oscar Gleeson.
Instead of trusting the success of their scheme to an image made by mounting a blanket over the end of a stick, and which 131 might well deceive where there was so little light, they had picked up the inanimate body, lifted it upon the back of one of their mustangs, and slowly elevated it above the eaves, imitating the natural action as closely as they could.
However, they ought to have practiced the trick before risking so much on its success. Everything was going right, until the head reached a point where it was not advisable to support it further, since the hands thus employed were likely to receive some of the bullets they expected to be fired after it.