Then naturally his thoughts turned to his mustang Thunderbolt, that had been left in the mesquite bush with the animal belonging to his uncle. The chances were that the Comanches had captured both, but he was not without hope regarding his own pony.
The steed was so intelligent that he was certain to resist the approach of a stranger at night, especially if he were an Indian. The redskins were so occupied in trying to encompass 181 the death of the Texan and his family, besides being well supplied with their own steeds, that they were not likely to put forth much effort to capture a single animal.
The youth was as eager as his companions to do his part in driving off the red men, but the chance was denied him. The spare horse which he rode, and which he put to his best pace, could not hold his own with the rest, and consequently he arrived at the rear of the procession.
He glanced right and left, but caught the outlines of but one figure, whose identity he suspected, because he was standing in front of the cabin door.
“Helloa, uncle, is that you?”
“Yes, Avon; I see you have arrived; I hope you suffered no harm.”
“Matters were stirring for a time, but I am safe.”
At this moment, Mrs. Shirril and Dinah, recognizing the voice, opened the door, the captain inviting them to come outside.
The fire was now burning so briskly on the hearth that the interior was well illuminated, 182 so that their figures were plainly stamped against the yellow background.
“There isn’t anything left for you to do,” said the captain, “so you may as well dismount.”