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Black Panther, Santana, and a dozen warriors, somecarrying torches, rushed into the grove. They ran by theside of the medicine lodge until they came to the slit.There they stopped and examined it, pulling it openwidely. They noticed the powerful slash of the knifethat had cut through the tough buffalo hide four feet tothe ground. Then they knelt down and examined theground for traces of footsteps. But the rain, thebeneficent, intervening rain, had done its work. It had pusheddown the grass with gentle insistence and flooded theground until nothing was left from which the keenestComanche could derive a clue. They ran about like dogsin the brake, seeking the scent, but they found nothing.Warriors from the river had reported, also, that they sawnobody.
It was marvelous, incomprehensible, this suddenvanishing of the captive and his friend, and the two chiefswere troubled. They glanced up at the dark platforms ofthe dead and shivered a little. Perhaps the spirits ofthose who had passed were not favorable to them. It waswell that Okapa made medicine within to avert disasterfrom the tribe. But Black Panther and Santana werebrave men, else they would not have been great chiefs, and they still searched in this grove, which was more orless sacred, examining behind every tree, prowling amongthe bushes, and searching the grass again and again forfootsteps.
Phil lay flat upon his back, and those moments wereas vivid in his memory years afterward as if they werepassing again. Either elbow almost touched the shroudedform of some warrior who had lived intensely in histime. They did not inspire any terror in him now. Hisenemies alive, they had become, through no will of theirown, his protectors dead. He did not dare even to turnon his side for fear of making a noise that might beheard by the keen watchers below. He merely looked upat the heavens, which were somber, full of driftingclouds, and without stars or moon. The rain wasgradually soaking through his clothing, and now and thendrops struck him in the eyes, but he did not notice them.
He heard the Comanches walking about beneath him, and the guttural notes of their words that he did notunderstand, but he knew that neither he nor BillBreakstone could expect much mercy if they were found.After one escape they would be lucky if they met quickdeath and not torture at the hands of the Comanches.He saw now and then the reflection of the torch-lightshigh up on the walls of the medicine lodge, but generallyhe saw only the clouds and vapors above him.
Despite the voices and footsteps, Phil felt that theywould not be seen. No one would ever think of lookingin such places for him and Breakstone. But the waitwas terribly long, and the suspense was an acute physicalstrain. He felt his breath growing shorter, and thestrength seemed to depart from his arms and legs. Hewas glad that he was lying down, as it would have beenhard to stand upon one's feet and wait, helpless and insilence, while one's fate was being decided. There waseven a fear lest his breathing should turn to a gasp, andbe heard by those ruthless searchers, the Comanches.Then he fell to calculating how long it would be untildawn. The night could not last more than two or threehours longer, and if they were compelled to remain thereuntil day, the chance of being seen by the Comancheswould become tenfold greater.
He longed, also, to see or hear his comrade who laynot ten feet away, but he dared not try the lowest ofwhispers. If he turned a little on his side to see, themummy of some famous Comanche would shut out theview; so he remained perfectly still, which was the wisestthing to do, and waited through interminable time. Therain still dripped through the foliage, and by and by thewind rose, the rain increasing with it. The wet leavesmatted together, but above wind and rain came the soundfrom the medicine lodge, that ceaseless whistling andbeating of the dancers' feet. He wondered when it wouldstop. He did not know that Comanche warriors had beenknown to go around and around in their dance three daysand three nights, without stopping for a moment, andwithout food or water.
After a long silence without, he heard the Comanchesmoving again through the grove, and the reflection fromthe flare of a torch struck high on the wall of themedicine lodge. They had come back for a second search!He
felt for a few moments a great apprehension lest theyinvade the platforms themselves, but this thought wasquickly succeeded by confidence in the invisibility ofBreakstone and himself, and the superstition of theIndians.
The tread of the Comanches and their occasional talkdied away, the lights disappeared from the creek bed, and the regions, outside the medicine lodge and the otherlodges, were left to the darkness and the rain. Phil feltdeep satisfaction, but he yet remained motionless andsilent. He longed to call to Breakstone, but he dreaded lesthe might do something rash. Bill Breakstone was olderthan he, and had spent many years in the wilderness.It was for him to act first. Phil, despite an overwhelmingdesire to move and to speak, held himself rigid andvoiceless. In a half hour came the soft, whisperingquestion: