Then, in as few words as possible, Avon told his story. He remembered that his uncle was wounded before his horse was killed, and it was self-evident to everyone that the poor man had been carried off by the Comanches. "Did you see Shackaye among 'em?" asked Gleeson, his face like a thunder-cloud. "He was not with those who attacked us; I could not have failed to see him if he had been." "But what became of him? He started off with you, and you must have parted somewhere on the road." Young Burnet now told about Shackaye's encounter with the steer which came near slaying him. Avon's pursuit of the other troublesome animal withdrew all attention from him, and there was no certainty of the manner of his disappearance, which, to say the least, was extraordinary. But the absence of Captain Shirril forbade that the cowboys should waste time in idleness. Instinctively every eye was turned toward the hills to the eastward among which the Comanches had vanished with their captive. "They haven't had time to go far," said Zach Collis, "and if we ride hard we shall soon run 'em down." "But is it best to try that?" was the question of Ward Burrell, or Old Bronze. Gleeson, who was naturally looked upon as the leader, shook his head. "They'll brain him the minute there's a chance of losing him." "But why did they take him off and spare _me_?" asked the astonished Avon. "They thought you was dead and so didn't bother with you." "Why did they make him prisoner instead of doing what they had been trying so long to do--kill him?" "He's of more account than you; _he_ was the chap they was after, and not _you_." "It looked for a time as though they had designs on me." The words of the Texan acted like a damper on the ardor of his companions, who were eager to hasten to the rescue of their captain. Had they not known that he was wounded, it is likely they would have insisted upon an instant and vigorous pursuit; but none failed to see the truth of Gleeson's utterances, though it was only a few minutes before that he was as impatient as any of them. "Boys," said he, observing that they were looking at him, "I think you know what all this means as well as I do. If we had 'em out on the plains where there was a fair chance, or if the cap could put in some licks for himself, it would be different; but they're among them hills over there; they're watching us now; we can't make a move that they won't know it the minute it's started; they've got it on us, and just as soon as they see there's any show of losing the cap they'll finish him." "Ballyhoo is right," remarked Wynwood, commonly known as Madstone; "they've got us foul." "That being so, there aint any use for you, pards; so go back to camp, look after the cattle, and leave things to me."