back and search for them, "Cause the plains warn't no place for boys, no
how."

Saddling our horses and taking three of the men with us, Jerry and myself
rode back towards the dog-town, discharging our pistols and making all
the noise possible, in order to attract the attention of the youngsters
in the darkness. Occasionally we listened for a reply; but not a sound
could we hear, save the snarling yelp of some prairie-dog, disturbed by
the unusual noises, or the sharp, shrill cry of the night-hawk, that
rapidly swooped over our heads.

In a state of great anxiety, we passed a wretched night; and, at
daylight, commenced a thorough search for traces of the missing boys.
Finally Jerry discovered their tracks in the road leading towards camp;
and it seemed possible that we might have missed them in the darkness,
and, if we at once returned, should find them with the train.

We had proceeded scarcely more than a mile on the way back to camp, when
I noticed that Jerry, who was a short distance in advance, suddenly
stopped, as though waiting for me to overtake him. As I rode up, he
pointed to a fresh Indian trail, crossing our road almost at right
angles, and said in a low tone,--

"Ez sartin ez you're livin', the Comanches hev got 'em! That trail ain't
twelve hours old, and there's a dozen of the varmints ef there's one."

"Then let us instantly follow and retake them," was my reply.

"That's a heap easier said than done," replied the old man. "We won't
stan' much show, chasin' a dozen or twenty Comanches, and they ez likely