It was short creeping, and then the pins were out and the string of stolen quadrupeds was once more in motion. Their feet hardly made a sound upon the sand as they went. They were led on to the shelter of some bushes, and there Red Wolf left them that he might once more snake his way back to his perilous post of observation. It seemed like going to almost certain death, but he worked his stealthy way along until he could see a tall warrior, leading several ponies, come to a sudden halt at the place where the first captures had been left. "Ugh!" exclaimed the warrior. "Heap pony gone. More braves come take 'em. Good. Take more pony." He believed, therefore, that his own tribesmen had been there, but at that moment a shrill "Who-o-o-op" sounded from the darkness near him. Almost unconsciously, or from the force of habit, he replied to it with his own war-cry. Following that came a dozen more from within the corral. One after another, in quick succession, every Mexican sentinel fired off his musket in sudden alarm. A bugler caught up his bugle and began to blow it loudly. It was a hubbub of mingled sounds, but the warriors in the corral sprang each upon the back of the nearest pony and plied his whip savagely upon the frightened animals around him. Horses neighed, mules brayed, red men whooped, cavalrymen shouted, and the net result was a wild stampede of every brute that was loose or that could break his tether. Of course, they all ran after the first to get away, and these had struck out into the open country. It was no time for Red Wolf to care what became of the drove, the hacienda, or the Comanches. He had retreated after sounding his mischievous whoop, and he was now on the back of one of the stolen horses, with the others following patiently in a string behind him. They at least had escaped being stampeded, and at the same time a large number of their four-footed comrades were on their way to the river under the care of the successful warriors of Great Bear. There was no danger that General Bravo's crack regiment would be in pursuit of anybody very early the next morning. The night was indeed nearly gone when Jim Cheyne, standing sentry for the Texans, was hailed from among the bushes,-- "Red Wolf! Want Big Knife. Bring pony." "Colonel," shouted Jim, "here's that buster boy again. He's been stealing ponies from the Greasers. He'll do." "He will!" exclaimed Bowie, springing to his feet and coming forward. In a few minutes more he said it again, and so did they all with emphasis, but the colonel added, gloomily,-- "It's almost sun-up, boys. What I want is to hear from Tetzcatl and Castro and the Lipans." "Glad we've a lot of fresh mounts, anyhow," said Joe. "What we need most is to be able to git away." "We will go to the river-bank first," said Bowie. "Castro is to meet us there. Even Tetzcatl believed the Lipans had gone across the river."