They might have gone further in the direction taken by the headless rider. The sun would have been their guide, and after that the evening star. But it was the rider of the shod mustang they were desirous to overtake; and the half hour of daylight that followed was spent in fruitless search for his trail—gone blind among the shingle.
Spangler proclaimed himself at fault, as the sun disappeared over the horizon.
They had no alternative but to ride back to the chapparal, and bivouac among the bushes.
The intention was to make a fresh trial for the recovery of the trail, at the earliest hour of the morning.
It was not fulfilled, at least as regarded time. The trial was postponed by an unexpected circumstance.
Scarce had they formed camp, when a courier arrived, bringing a despatch for the major. It was from the commanding officer of the district, whose head-quarters were at San Antonio do Bexar. It had been sent to Fort Inge, and thence forwarded.
The major made known its tenor by ordering “boots and saddles” to be sounded; and before the sweat had become dry upon the horses, the dragoons were once more upon their backs.
The despatch had conveyed the intelligence, that the Comanches were committing outrage, not upon the Leona, but fifty miles farther to the eastward, close to the town of San Antonio itself.
It was no longer a mere rumour. The maraud had commenced by the murder of men, women, and children, with the firing of their houses.
The major was commanded to lose no time, but bring what troops he could spare to the scene of operations. Hence his hurried decampment.