The first black stump struck lightly against the bank. Then a Comanche warrior, immersed hitherto to the chin, rose from the stream. The water ran in black bubbles from his naked body. In his right hand he held a long knife. The face was sinister, savage, and terrible beyond expression. Another of the stumps was just rising from the stream, but Phil fired instantly at the first face, and then sprang back, shouting, "The Comanches." He did not run. He merely sheltered himself behind a tree, and began to reload rapidly. Welby came running through the bushes, and then the others, drawn by the shout. In a minute the timber was filled with armed men. "What is it? What is it? What did you shoot at?" they cried, although the same thought was in the minds of every one of them. "The Comanches!" replied Phil. "They came swimming in a line down the river. Their heads looked like black stumps on the water! I fired at the first the moment he rose from the stream! I think it was their plan to ambush and kill the sentinels!" Bill Breakstone was among those who had come, and he cried: "Then we must beat them off at once! We must not give them a chance to get a footing on the bank!" They rushed forward, Phil with them, his rifle now reloaded, and gazed down at the river. They heard no noise, but that slight swishing sound made by the current, and the surface of the stream was bare. The river flowed as if no foreign body had ever vexed its current. Fifty pairs of eyes used to the wilderness studied the stream and the thickets. They saw nothing. Fifty pairs of ears trained to hear the approach of danger listened. They heard nothing but the faint swishing sound that never ceased. A murmur not pleasant to Phil, arose. "I’ve no doubt it was a stump, a real stump," one of the older men said. A deep flush overspread Phil’s face. "I saw a Comanche with long black hair rise from the water," he said. The man who had spoken grinned a little, but the expression of his face showed that doubt had solidified into certainty. "A case of nerves," he said, "but I don’t blame you so much, bein’ only a boy." Phil felt his blood grow hot, but he tried to restrain his temper. "I certainly saw a Comanche," he said, "and there were others behind him!" "Then what’s become of all this terrible attack?"! asked the man ironically. "Come! Come!" said Woodfall. "We can’t have such talk. The boy may have made a mistake, but the incident showed that he was watching well, just what we want our sentinels to do."