The Frenchman could not resist stopping now and then to pick some curious flower which he saw in the green oases.
The sun was several hours high when they reached a grove of trees and entered in among them. A cool spring bubbled up in a shady spot, and the horses and their riders took long draughts of the excellent water. The horses were suffered to move around for awhile so that they might have some breakfast and also get rested.
The four were talking earnestly, when the guide suddenly put up his hand and motioned to the others to remain quiet.
Instantly all was silent, and with open ears the four listened for a repetition of the sound that had alarmed the guide.
Soon all heard it. It sounded like the trampling of a drove of buffaloes or wild horses, and came from the same direction that the four men had come from.
Three of the whites thought that the noise was made by buffaloes or wild horses, but the old guide knew better.
He thought it was made by Comanches, who were following up their trail, and springing to his feet he rushed to the edge of the trees. A single glance served to show him that his suspicion was not false. Over a score of Comanches were coming straight toward the grove.
At their head rode two men whom the guide knew.
One was the chief, Red Buffalo, the other, a famous trailer. The Starved Wolf was leaning over, and Ralph knew that his eyes were fixed upon the trail.
Ralph saw that there was going to be a fight, and he resolved to be the aggressive party. A word to his comrades sufficed to tell them of his desires, and a few seconds after three rifles cracked and three bullets winged with death sped through the air.