"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!"

A sudden revulsion had taken place in the mind of the cibolero. There was every probability that Antonio's conjecture was correct. The "whistle" is a peculiar signal of the Pane tribes. Moreover, the fact of so many of the marauders being on foot--that was another peculiarity.

Carlos knew that among the Southern Indians such a tactic is never resorted to. The Panes are _Horse_-Indians too, but on their marauding expeditions to the South they often go afoot, trusting to return mounted--which they almost invariably do.

"After all," thought Carlos, "I have been wronging the Wacoes--the robbers are Panes!"

But now a new suspicion entered his mind. It was still the Wacoes that had done it. They had adopted the Pane whistle to deceive him! A party of them might easily be afoot--it was not such a distance to their camp,--besides, after the estampeda they had gone in that very direction!

No doubt, should he go there on the morrow, they would tell him that Panes were in the neighbourhood, that it was they who had stolen his mules--the mules of course he would not see, as these would be safely concealed among the hills.

"No, Antonio," he said, after making these reflections, "our enemies are the Wacoes themselves."

"Master," replied Antonio, "I hope not."

"I hope not, too, camarado. I had taken a fancy to our friends of but yesterday: I should be sorry to find them our foes--but I fear it is even so."

With all, Carlos was not confident; and now that he reflected, another circumstance came to his mind in favour of the Wacoes. His companions had also noted it.

That circumstance was the running of the buffaloes observed during the past few days. The gangs had passed from the north, going southward; and their excited manner was almost a proof that they were pressed by a party of hunters. The Wacoes were all this time hunting to the south of the cibolero's camp! This would seem to indicate that some other Indians were upon the north. What more likely than a band of Panes?

Again Carlos reproached himself for his too hasty suspicions of his new friends. His mind was filled with doubts. Perhaps these would be resolved by the light of the morning.

As soon as day should arrive, he had resolved to go to the Waco camp, and satisfy himself, or at all events openly make his inquiries.

The first streaks of daylight were just falling upon the prairie, when the quick keen eye of the half-blood, ranging the ground in every direction, was arrested by the appearance of something odd upon the grass. It lay near the spot where the _mulada_ had been picketed. It was a darkish object in a recumbent position. Was it bushes or gorse?

No. It could not be that. Its outlines were different. It was more like some animal lying down--perhaps a large wolf? It was near the place where they had fancied that they saw something in the darkness, and at which Carlos had fired.

Antonio, on first perceiving the object, called his master's attention to it, and both now gazed over the box of the carreta, scanning it as well as the grey light would permit them.

As this became brighter, the object was seen more distinctly, while at each moment the curiosity of the ciboleros increased. They would have long since gone out to examine it more closely; but they were not yet free from apprehensions of a second attack from the Indians; and they prudently remained within the corral.

At length, however, they could forego an examination no longer. They had formed their suspicion of what the object was; and Carlos and Antonio climbed over the carretas, and proceeded towards it.

On arriving at the spot they were not so much surprised--for they had partially anticipated such a thing--at finding the body of a dead Indian. It was lying flat upon the grass, face downwards; and, on closer examination, a wound, from which much blood had run, was perceived in the side. There was the mark of a rifle bullet--Carlos had not fired in vain! They bent down, and turned over the body to examine it. The savage was in full war-costume--that is, naked to the waist, and painted over the breast and face so as to render him as frightful as possible: but what struck the ciboleros as most significant was the _costume of his head_! This was close shaven over the temples and behind the ears. A patch upon the top was clipped short, but in the centre of the crown one long lock of hair remained uncut, and this lock was intermingled with plumes, and plaited so as to hang, queue-like, down the back. The naked temples were stained with vermilion, and the cheeks and bosom daubed in a similar manner. These brilliant spots contrasted with the colourless and deathly hue of the skin, and, with the blanched lips and glazed eyeballs, gave to the corpse a hideous appearance.

Carlos, after gazing upon it for some moments, turned to his companion with a look of intelligence; and, pointing to the shaved head, and then to the moccasins upon the Indian's feet, in a tone that expressed the satisfaction he felt at the discovery, pronounced the word,--"Pane!"

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

The dead Indian was a Pane beyond doubt. The tonsure of his hair, the cut of his moccasins, his war-paint, enabled Carlos to tell this.

The cibolero was glad that he was a Pane. He had several reasons for being so. First, it gratified him to know that his Waco friends were still true; secondly, that he had punished one of the robbers; and, lastly, the knowledge that they were Panes gave him some hope that he might yet recover, _by the help of the Wacoes_, some of the stolen mules.

This was not improbable. As already stated, the Wacoes and Panes were sworn foes; and as soon as the former should hear that the latter were in the neighbourhood, Carlos felt sure they would go in pursuit of them.

He would share in this pursuit with his little band, and, in the event of the Panes being defeated, might get back his _mulada_.

His first impulse, therefore, was, to gallop to the Waco camp--apprise them of the fact that the Pane was on the war-trail, and then join them in search of the latter.

Just then both he and Antonio remembered that the Panes had themselves gone in the direction of the Waco camp! It was not two miles distant-- they could hardly fail to find it, even in the night. What if they had taken the Wacoes by surprise, and had already made their attack!

It was quite probable--more than probable. The time and the hour were just in keeping. The estampeda had occurred before midnight. No doubt they were then on their way to the Waco village. They would just be in time to make their attack, at the usual hour for such forays, between midnight and morning.

Carlos feared he might be too late to give warning. His Waco friends may have already perished! Whether or no, he determined to proceed at once to their encampment.

Leaving Antonio and the peons with directions to guard and defend his own camp to the last, he rode off, armed both with rifle and bow. It was yet but grey day, but he knew the trail leading to the Waco village, and followed it without difficulty. He rode with caution, scanning the timber copses before approaching them; and running his eye along the crests of the ridges as he advanced.

This caution was not unnecessary. The Panes could not be far off--they might still be in ambush between him and the Waco camp, or halted among the hills.