But the Mexican and the sergeant's charger had vanished, and the Partisan and brown Emperor were absent.
Horror, and a sense near akin to despair, fell on the party thus abandoned. For a little while they gazed in each other's faces, mute and white with surprise, if not with terror. Gordon was the first to recover from his consternation, and he spoke cheeringly.
"The prisoner has escaped, and the Partisan has gone in pursuit of him, that is clear," he said. "We have nothing to do but to wait here until he returns. We have food in abundance; and water and forage for the horses, and we can keep this pass against all the Indians in the universe, so long as our ammunition lasts—and we can fire five hundred rounds, if the Comanches find us out, which I think they will not. Keep good heart, therefore, men, and, trust me, Pierre Delacroix will be back here before sunset."
"But the Comanches! have not they cut him off?" whispered Julia, who had not spoken one word since the first alarm, but had behaved with the cool, passive fortitude of a brave, noble woman, awaiting the end in silent resignation.
"Surely not," replied Gordon, confidently. "Had they fallen in with him, his brave horse would surely have outstripped them, and in his flight he would surely have led them in a contrary direction from this, our stronghold."
"Sure he would. You are right! you are right!" said the quick-witted girl—"God's name be praised; you are right, Frank; he is safe."
[CHAPTER VI.]
THE BELEAGUERED CAMP.
"Now I will post a sentinel on yon hillock, and then we will pass the day as easily as we can. I and my fellows will lay poor Sergeant Davis in the earth, which, if it be not consecrated, will at least shield him from the ravening wolf and the loathsome vulture."