Warned by the echo of hoofbeats, as the outlaws rode down the canyon, the Indians had ample time to arrange their ambush.
Who the travellers were, it mattered not to them.
They were on the warpath and redskin or paleface was equally welcome.
Yet so craftily did Comanche Tony approach that he was almost upon them ere the keen eyes of the expectant bucks had detected his stooping form as he glided from one rock to another with absolute noiselessness.
Startled to think that any one could get so near to them and disappointed that they were to capture only one prisoner, the bucks watched the bandit steal nearer and nearer.
Bodies crouched, muscles tense, the savages waited till their victim was close to the fire.
Scenting a trick, since he had been allowed to approach unchallenged and could discern no sleeping forms about the fire, Comanche Tony had turned, determined to get back to his pals without delay.
But he was too late.
No sooner had he faced about than the air was full of leaping forms which the glare from the fires showed to be streaked with gaudy-hued paints.