It was the voice of Blufe Brandon.
In an instant the lights were put out in that coach. Then followed a confusion that beggars description. The yells of the Indians, the report of pistols, the crashing of glass, the jamming of shutters, the screaming of women, the commands and shouts of men, made the moment awful, terrible.
In the midst of the excitement Brandon sprung to his feet, and, leaning forward, seized Silvia Sanford around the waist—lifted her in his arms as though she had been an infant, and turning, glided out the door and sprung from the car.
“Oh, father, help! Some one is carrying me off!” cried Silvia, as she was borne from the car.
“Great God! what foul treachery is this?” cried Colonel Sanford, springing to his feet. “Willis, Frank, boys, all come, for Heaven’s sake!” and, followed by the four young men, he rushed out and sprung from the car just in time to see the villain disappear down a black defile with his child.
The moment the renegade sprung from the car every Indian turned and followed him, leaving the train to resume its course, which it did, leaving Colonel Sanford and his young friends standing alone in that awful gloom!
It was quite evident that the attack had been carefully arranged, simply for the abduction of Miss Sanford, for no one was killed, nor did the savages attempt to board the train as they had done on previous occasions; but withdrew at a signal of their chief, Blufe Brandon.
A speechless silence fell over the colonel and his party. They stood and gazed into the gloom that seemed impenetrable.
The prospect of recovering the lost girl appeared to the experienced eyes of the father almost as gloomy as were the surroundings.
The remembrance of the face he had seen at Omaha as the cars were leaving, the face of a man whom he knew to be his bitter, implacable enemy, instantly caused him to connect the man with the disappearance of his daughter.