Before the last words were spoken, he was in the saddle and away. One quick glance around settled his course, and then fixing his eyes steadily upon a point of timber a mile or more ahead, he dashed on like an arrow fresh from the bow. His companions followed more deliberately, though at a steady gallop. The moonlight was sufficiently strong to enable them to follow the plainly imprinted trail with little difficulty. In a few minutes they lost sight of Ned Campbell, behind a timber island. Round a point of this the trail led, and dashing along, the eyes of the pursuers widely dilated as they abruptly drew rein. The prairie here stretched out free of timber, almost level for several miles in either direction. And yet not a living object was to be seen upon its surface! Was this magic? More than one of the hunters felt a thrill of superstitious awe, as they glanced at each other. Where were Hawksley and the strange woman? Where was Ned Campbell? “Look!” muttered a tall, lank youth, Zebedee Ruel by name, “hyar’s thar trail—three critters goin’ at full split. They’ve passed this a-way. Reckon we’d best follow on—what say?” The trail was faint and indistinct at this point, for the ground was harder, ringing sharply beneath the iron-shod hoofs. It was the edge of a tract of prairie sometimes found in Texas—more frequently in Kansas and Nebraska; composed of sand, gravel and flinty pebbles, over which a horse may pass without leaving a trail. Such was soon found to be the case here. Though all dismounted, even searching the ground upon hands and knees, the trail was soon lost. “Ha! boys, we’re fools!” muttered Craig Fenton, in a tone of disquiet. “Don’t you know this place? Why we’re not five miles from Colton’s Ranche!” “By thunder! you’re right, Craig,” muttered Ruel. “Then they must be in the—” “Look yonder!” Following the direction indicated by the outstretched finger, the hunters beheld the tall figure of a horseman, standing motionless upon the prairie, not two hundred yards from their position. And yet, only a moment before, the prairie had been closely scanned, without a living object being seen. CHAPTER II. THE LOTTERY OF DEATH. Other events were occurring upon that same night, that now claim our attention. A small timber island that stood close beside the stream before spoken of as running near the hunters’ bivouac, was the scene of a strange and peculiar trial; one that might with propriety be termed _a lottery of death_. Shortly after dark a band of horsemen began congregating here, riding silently into the road, dismounting and tethering their animals in a small glade that occupied the center of the _motte_. That they were white men, was plain from the few words spoken, though the overhanging trees concealed their features.