Such was soon found to be the case here. Though all dismounted, even searching the ground upon hands and knees, the trail was soon lost.
“Ha! boys, we’re fools!” muttered Craig Fenton, in a tone of disquiet. “Don’t you know this place? Why we’re not five miles from Colton’s Ranche!”
“By thunder! you’re right, Craig,” muttered Ruel. “Then they must be in the—”
“Look yonder!”
Following the direction indicated by the outstretched finger, the hunters beheld the tall figure of a horseman, standing motionless upon the prairie, not two hundred yards from their position. And yet, only a moment before, the prairie had been closely scanned, without a living object being seen.
CHAPTER II.
THE LOTTERY OF DEATH.
Other events were occurring upon that same night, that now claim our attention.
A small timber island that stood close beside the stream before spoken of as running near the hunters’ bivouac, was the scene of a strange and peculiar trial; one that might with propriety be termed a lottery of death.
Shortly after dark a band of horsemen began congregating here, riding silently into the road, dismounting and tethering their animals in a small glade that occupied the center of the motte. That they were white men, was plain from the few words spoken, though the overhanging trees concealed their features.
One man who was among the first to arrive, appeared high in authority, judging from the deference with which he was regarded by the others. He seemed ill at ease, or very impatient, moving restlessly to and fro, muttering more than one curse beneath his breath, stamping his foot fiercely or nervously fingering the weapons at his belt.