"My fortune is bitter," thought Carlos; "but revenge is sweet! What if I seek the Pane,--tell him my intention,--offer him my lance, my bow, and my true rifle? I have never met the Pane. I know him not; but I am no weak hand, and now that I have a cause for vengeance he will not despise my aid. My men will follow me--I know they will--anywhere; and, tame `Tagnos' though they be, they can fight when roused to revenge. I shall seek the Pane!" The last thought was uttered half aloud, and with emphasis that spoke determination. The cibolero was a man of quick resolves, and this resolve he had actually come to. It is not to be wondered at, His indignation at being treated in such a cruel and cowardly manner--the poor prospect before him on returning to the settlement--his natural desire to punish those who had placed him in such a predicament--as well as some hope which he still entertained of recovering at least a part of his lost property,--all influenced him to this resolve. He had determined upon it, and was just on the point of communicating his determination to his companions, when he was interrupted by the half-blood Antonio. "Master," said the latter, who appeared to have been for some time busied with his own thoughts, "did you notice nothing strange?" "When, Antonio?" "During the estampeda." "What was there strange?" "Why, there appeared to be a good number, full half, of the rascals afoot." "True; I observed that." "Now, master, I have seen a _cavallada_ stampeded by the Comanches more than once--they were always mounted." "What signifies that? These are Wacoes, not Comanches." "True, master; but I have heard that the Wacoes, like the Comanches, are true Horse-Indians, and never go afoot on any business." "That is indeed so," replied the cibolero in a reflective mood. "Something strange, I confess." "But, master," continued the half-blood, "did you notice nothing else strange during the stampede?" "No," answered Carlos; "I was so annoyed--so put out by the loss--I scarce noticed anything. What else, Antonio?" "Why, in the midst of these yellings, did you not hear a shrill whoop now and then--a _whistle_?" "Ha! did you hear that?" "More than once--distinctly." "Where were my ears?" asked the cibolero of himself. "You are sure, Antonio?" "Quite sure, master." Carlos remained for a moment silent, evidently engaged in busy reflection. After a pause, he broke out in a half-soliloquy:-- "It may have been--it must have been--by Heavens! it must--" "What, master?" "The Pane whistle!" "Just what I was thinking, master. The Comanches never whoop so--the Kiawa never. I have not heard that the Wacoes give such a signal. Why not Pane? Besides, their being afoot--that's like Pane!"