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Updated: May 12, 2025
Before, however, either could speak or make any movements, Avon was astounded to catch sight of his uncle, Captain Shirril, walking slowly and evidently in pain, close behind him along the narrow path. The instant he descried his nephew, he raised his hand as a signal for him to do nothing. "It's all right," he said, in a guarded voice; "Shackaye is our friend, though he hasn't been until now."
Supposing the dusky foe was coming for him, Captain Shirril rose to a half-sitting position, and held his revolver ready. He meant to wait until his enemy was so near that there could be no possibility of missing him. Before that point was reached, the Comanche would have to pass directly by the open scuttle.
The Comanches were still circling back and forth on the outside, uttering their whoops and firing their guns at intervals, though the latter consisted of blind shooting, and was meant to terrify the defenders, since none of the bullets found its way through either of the windows. Captain Shirril took but a few seconds to decide upon his course of action.
Profound stillness followed the despairing exclamation of Mrs. Shirril, who believed that her nephew had gone to his death while trying to steal away from the cabin in which his friends were held at bay by the Comanches. The quiet on the outside was as deep and oppressive as within.
The young man, finding no one in his immediate front, turned toward a couple that were advancing from another point, but before he could make his aim sure, he was shocked to hear a groan from Captain Shirril. "Are you hit?" asked the nephew, turning his scared face toward him. "Yes, but still able to do something; bring your horse to his feet and make a dash for the camp.
When Captain Shirril erected his humble cabin several years before, he did not forget the danger to which he was certain to be exposed from the Indians. The wooden walls were heavy and bullet-proof, and the door was capable of being barred so strongly at an instant's warning, that nothing less than a battering ram could drive it inward.
Captain Shirril was seated motionless on his steed, several hundred yards distant, and, if the steer decided for a moment in his own mind that he was the individual he was looking for, he must have been puzzled to know how it was his horse traveled so far in such an amazingly brief space of time.
Shirril led the way down the ladder, followed by her servant, and they quickly found themselves on the lower floor. Enough smoke remained in the room to cause Dinah another fit of sneezing, but the shattered window and the opening of the door at the head of the primitive stairs gave such good vent that a rapid improvement took place.
Finally, as if he saw the uselessness of his pursuit, the steer headed in the opposite direction from that which he ought to have taken, and sped away with all the fleetness he possessed. Avon saw his uncle galloping to his help. "Leave him to me!" called the nephew; "I'll conquer him." Captain Shirril drew up, and, from his perch in the saddle, watched the result of the curious contest.
Habent I heerd him yell, too? he neber does it in dat style; dat war an Injin, and de reason dat he screeched out in dat onmarciful way war 'cause he got in de path ob Avon and de boy plugged him." "By gracious, Dinah! I believe you're right!" was the exclamation of Captain Shirril, so joyous over the rebound from despair that he was ready to dance a breakdown in the middle of the floor.
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