CHAPTER XII.A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE.
The Texan having rendered his report, the party made ready to move on again, when a rather alarming discovery was made.
Hans Bungslager was nowhere to be found!
There stood his horse, as quiet and unconcerned as though nothing extraordinary had happened, but his rider was missing.
What did it mean?
This was the question which the three asked each other, and which no one was able to answer.
"He came up and talked with us a few minutes, while you were gone," said Katrina, who was more alarmed than the others, "and then said he would go back and get on his horse so as to be ready to start if all should prove right, and that is the last we saw of him."
"Did he say nothing about going away?" asked the Texan.
"Not a word."
"What did he talk about?"
"Nothing in particular," said Katrina, trying to recall his words.
"I remember," put in Colonel Crockett, "that he said that he believed something was follerin' him—either a bear or red-skin."
"That makes it look serious," remarked Sebastian, in an undertone.
"Why so?"
"Because probably something was following, and that something has been the means of his disappearance."
"I don't see as there's any thing in that," added Colonel Crockett, "for he talked the same way when you and Katrina came up."
"Exactly, and he was right, for we were in his rear, and he detected us."
"But what could it be?" asked his alarmed niece. "No Indian could have come anywhere near without our detecting him."
"Not unless he wanted us to do so; then it would have been easy enough. I tell you," added the Texan, more earnestly than ever, "I believe there has been some sharp trick played upon us."
Carsfield was firm in his belief, but he could give no definite conjecture as to what the trick he referred to really was.
"I have had dealings with the Comanches before," he continued, "and when they go to scheming and playing at strategy, they are a little the sharpest fellows I ever saw."
"But I can see no object in this," said Katrina. "Uncle Hans is not such a tempting prize that they should steal him and leave us."
"That is it," laughed Crockett; "whenyouare here, any red or white man would pass by us foryou; you are right, Katrina."
"That is not what I meant," the blushing girl hastened to say; "but he is the last man, as I look at it, that a party of Indians would seek to capture."
"Our turn,yourturn, my dearest one, will soon come. They have experimented on him; they have succeeded so well that their next attempt will be upon us."
The words of Sebastian struck both Crockett and Katrina as full of meaning, and they began to believe that he was right, although the whole thing had a look which, neither of the three could explain or understand.
When the Comanches were in such force, that an assault upon the whiles could not but result in their capture or destruction, it seemed incredible that they should take the pains and time to work by artifice; but by what other means could the disappearance of the Dutchman be accounted for?
"How was it done?" asked the perplexed girl, who was in a tremor of anxiety about her uncle.
"That is a question which can only be answered by a guess," was the reply. "I think one of the red scamps has followed us some distance, and showed himself in some way or in some shape to Hans, so that he has been led to follow after and attempt to capture him, and that's what he's after now."
This at best was a very unsatisfactory explanation, and it did not suit the originator of it himself.
"Must we leave him to his fate?" asked the girl, scarcely able to restrain her tears of sympathy; "must he be left to perish?"
"I dislike the idea of leaving you again," replied Sebastian, "when we are all in such danger; but, if you wish it, I will take the back track, and make a short hunt for him."
"Oh! do," pleaded Katrina, taking one of his hands in both of hers and pressing it; "do it for my sake. Colonel Crockett will wait here with me, won't you?"
"Sartinly—any thing to please you," was the gallant reply. "I think, howsumever, that it is all time lost."
But the affectionate girl would hear no refusal, and the Texan prepared to obey.
"You must promise me that you will not leave this place, and that you will not fire again unless you have to do so to save yourself," he said, addressing himself to Colonel Crockett, who, of course, gave the promise.
"You are now standing in the path," added the Texan. "Perhaps it will be safer to withdraw a little to one side, so as to be out of the way of any that may come along."
This was a good advice, and was acted upon at once. Crockett led the horses some distance into the woods and fastened them to trees, where they were beyond the sight of the keenest-eyed Comanche, and then their friend took his departure.
Katrina was in a tremor of alarm, and seating herself beside the Tennesseean, wept like a child. The grizzled wanderer did his best to comfort her, but there was little he could say to soothe her alarm, and so he let her have her cry out.
When something like a calm came back to her, it struck him that something ought be done by way of diverting her attention from the gloomy subject.
"Let's go to the edge of the clearing, and see whether any of the varmints are about?"
She arose, and the two advanced to the open space, where the low, broad deserted cabin could be seen, standing as quiet in the moonlight as when they first cast eyes upon it.
"Hallo! there's something now!" whispered Crockett, touching the arm of the girl, "and by the hokey-pokey, if it ain't a big bear!"
A large lumbering animal could be seen, shambling awkwardly over the clearing near the house, as though he were searching for something to eat.
The great bear-hunter impulsively raised his gun.
"What are you going to do?" she asked.
"Just wait a moment, and see how nice I will drop that chap."
"No; you mustn't," she interrupted, drawing down his arm. "Remember the promise you made to Sebastian."
"But he didn't mean bears," plead Crockett, very loth to forego the pleasure of picking off the noble game.
"He meant every thing; he meant that you mustn't make the least noise to bring the Comanches down upon us, andyou mustn't do it!"
By this time the bear had disappeared around the house, and the hunter reluctantly lowered his piece.
"Would thar be any harm," he asked, entreatingly, "in me slipping after the critter, and chasing him away off in the woods, and then dropping him?"
"And leaving me alone?"
"Ah, me!" sighed Crockett, "I s'pose you're right, but b'ars is my weakness, and when I see one, thar's such an itching in my hands, that it's mighty hard work to keep still, but I'll stick to you, till we get out of this muss."
He asked as a boon, however, that she would consent to his standing where he was so as tolookat the bear, if he should put in an appearance again.
Katrina could not well refuse this, but she took good care to remain with him, for after what she had witnessed, it was plain that he could not be trusted, in the matter of bears.
Crockett stood faithful at his post for half an hour, carefully scanning the clearing, forgetful of the absent Bungslager, and Sebastian, and of his own danger, and intent only upon seeing the animal which he had hunted with so much zest in the years past in the wilds of his own Tennessee.
But nothing more of the huge creature was seen, and turning disappointedly away, he and Katrina walked back in the wood, resumed their seats, and awaited the coming of the young Texan.
About an hour had passed, and they were beginning to feel some solicitude for the safety of the Texan himself, when he reappeared as silently as an Indian hunter.
But he was alone.
"Have you learned nothing of him?" inquired the trembling Katrina, hastening to her lover.
"Nothing at all," was the reply, as he took her two hands, and kissed her face. "I went back for nearly a mile, and called to him a dozen times, but heard and saw nothing at all that could give me the least clue to his disappearance."
The poor girl covered her face and gave a wail of despair.
"Did you see nothing of the varmints?" inquired Crockett.
"No; I hardly know what to make of it; I am quite puzzled at the turn affairs have taken."
So were they all, and the question remained:
"What shall we do?"