CHAPTER III.

THE COMANCHES’ PRIZE.

Chauncy could not help wondering why he had not seen the Indians before. The truth of it, however, was, that he had not been on the look-out for them and hence did not see them.

They had come up to the grove, and when the young man first heard and saw them, were just coming out from among the trees. This was a sudden and startling interruption to the
tete-a-tete
he was having with the Donna Iola.

A word sufficed to explain to the Donna the cause of his pale face. Chauncy had no fear for himself. He was mounted on a fast horse and could have escaped in a trice, but he would sooner cut off his right hand than desert his fair companion.

The mustang was put to its fastest speed, and for a mile managed to keep its distance. Then the Indians began gaining, at first slowly and then more rapidly, until at length Chauncy saw that in fifteen minutes more the Comanches would overtake them. What then would be their fate?

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He most probably would be burned at the stake, while the Donna would become the squaw of the chief, Red Buffalo.

How could they escape?

Suddenly he thought of his horse. Not one of the Comanches could overtake the “Ranger,” as his steed was called.

One only could escape, and that one must be the Donna Iola.

The exchange of horses only took a few seconds, but during that time the Indians gained upon them considerably.

The Donna did not know what Chauncy meant by changing horses, and when he told her of his plan she refused right up and down to desert him. Chauncy knew how to bring her round, however. He told her that if both were captured there was no chance for escape, whereas if one got off that one could bring assistance and thus both would escape.

The Donna saw that this was a fact, and gave her consent to go, but she resolved to stick to Chauncy until the last moment.

The Comanches, led by Red Buffalo himself, came rushing on like a whirlwind, uttering loud yells now and then.

They felt sure that the two fugitives were as good as in their power, and why should they not?

Were they not gaining rapidly on them and was not one of the horses giving out? Red Buffalo had begun to despond about ever finding the young Donna, and now that she seemed within his grasp, he began to feel a fierce joy.

She would never escape from him again if he once got her to the Indian village. The sharp young girl had drugged the squaw in whose charge she had been given, and while the latter was sleeping had made her escape, taking some food and a horse with her. Unluckily for her (though an excellent judge of horses) she happened in the darkness to get a poor steed out of the horse-corral, and now the horse was breaking down.

At length Chauncy told the Donna that she
must
leave him at once if she hoped to ever escape. If the Indians got close up and she tried to make off on the bay steed, they would fire, not at her but the horse, and would in all probability wound or kill him. In either case the Donna would
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be captured and then there would be no chance for them, for none could know that they were prisoners in the Indian village.

The Donna could not but obey the words of the young man. A word from Chauncy sent the bay horse forward with a dash. Off he went like an arrow shot from the bow. The Donna as she left Chauncy turned in the saddle and cast a glance of sorrow and something else at the young man.

Even in this critical moment, Chauncy felt a thrill of joy run through his form, for by that look he realized that he was beloved by the beautiful young Donna.

Such a world of feeling as there was in those large black eyes.

Love and sorrow mingled with reproach. The former because she had to leave him, and the latter because he had sent her from him. Chauncy knew that it was for the best, and but for this he would have recalled the Donna to his side.

It pained him greatly to be separated from the young girl in this manner, and naturally he felt kind of mad at those who had been the cause of it.

The Indians gave vent to a yell of rage when they saw the noble bay steed dart off with his light but unwilling burden.

They urged their horses on to as fast a speed as they could, but it was no use. The Donna went five yards to their three and easily distanced them.

Chauncy took a last look at the fast receding form of the Donna and then turned his attention to the mustang.

He saw a grove of trees not far to the south-west, and heading his horse toward these he rode forward.

Chauncy was a splendid horseman, and knew all of the tricks that class of men use to keep up the speed of their horses. By sundry tricks he managed to increase the speed of his horse so much that it held its own against the better and fresher horses of the Comanches. The latter were in a bad enough humor at the escape of the Donna, and the sight of the young hunter keeping the same distance away from them infuriated them.

They thought that he was going to escape, and resolved
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that he never would get off alive. They would rather kill him on the spot than that this should happen.

A volley of bullets were sent after him, but none touched the hunter, although several whizzed past him in rather close proximity. His horse was not so lucky, however.

One of the bullets struck it, and the poor animal reeled and staggered for a moment before falling to the ground.

There was no need of this. The Comanches ought to have known that the speed which the hunter had got out of his horse was its last efforts, and in all probability it would have dropped down after reaching the trees.

Chauncy, with an active leap, managed to get off from the horse without getting his horse upon his legs.

He did not stop an instant after putting his feet upon
terra firma
, but made tracks for the trees, using all the speed he could command. The Indians dashed after him, but they were too late to catch him.

He reached the trees, and, jumping quickly behind one, turned and presented his rifle at the foe.

There was only one man, and twenty Comanches are not in the habit of stopping when this is the case.

So the Indians kept on, although they felt sure that some were rushing to their death.

Crack, went the rifle of the young hunter, and obeying the sharp and decisive summons, the Indian nearest Red Buffalo started on his way to the red-man’s “happy hunting-grounds.”

This was quick work, but the rest of the Indians did not hang back. The hunter’s rifle was empty now, and they must give him no time to load up. They did not know that Chauncy had not the least idea of loading up his gun.

Crack, crack, went the only revolver Chauncy had with him, the other being in the holster at his saddle-bow.

Again the deadly revolver sounded and still another Indian threw up his hands and fell from the back of his horse.

Chauncy was making deadly work among the foe with his single revolver. At length it was empty, and the Indians all around him on foot, they having thrown themselves from their horses.

With his discharged revolver, Chauncy gave one of the red villains a hard blow in the stomach and then he had to
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defend himself. Bravely and manfully did he fight against the crowd of Indians, but with all his courage he knew that there was no chance of escape. At length he was overpowered by numbers, thrown down and his hands bound behind him. His knife was red with the blood of several of the Comanches, and the wounded ones cast glances of hatred at him as their movements caused their cuts to hurt.

The Comanches then looked round upon the scene.

Five men were dead, while others were wounded more or less, and as they wanted to get away from this spot as soon as possible, the dead were buried, and then mounting Chauncy on one of the slain warriors’ horses, the whole band set off.