boys are holed up in the woods,” my companion murmured.
While I was wondering how he knew, a shot and the rising smoke from black powder showed that somebody was certainly in the cover indicated. “Where are the Indians?” I asked.
“Look down my sights,” he suggested.
When I had twisted my head into the necessary position, I could see a patch of brown behind a low shrub. Even as I squinted, it moved, and I lost sight of it.
Up to that moment the business had not seemed real, but awareness of the silent menace which was enveloping the posse then swooped down to grip me. “I’m afraid I lost your shot for you,” I told McQuinn. At the same time I didn’t like the idea of drawing attention to our presence until we had worked out a plan for getting out of trouble as well as jumping into it. “How many are there, would you say?”
“There’s no sense in shooting now.” There was a pause before he answered my question. “I’ve spotted six — no, seven, and they’ll be sneaking in from all sides. There’s probably twenty or thirty of them.”
I still hadn’t been able to locate any of the attackers unaided. “Do you know how many there are in the posse?”
“There
were
six, but I wouldn’t want to bet on the count now.” He started to work away from the ridge, and once again I followed him. “Now,” he went on, when we had reached a point where we could stand with safety, “there’s only one way to break this up. These Cheyennes have naturally left their ponies where they’d be safe from gunfire. The game is to stampede the nags and let the redskins knowthey’d better start horse hunting, if they don’t want to be stuck out here afoot.”
His analysis was clear to me, and so were the hazards. “The ponies will be guarded, naturally.”
“I’ll have to kill the horse wrangler,” he agreed. “Then I’ve got to ride back within shouting range, to let the bucks know they’re up against it.”
“Shouting range is closer then shooting range,” I said.
“Yes, but I’ll be moving fast, and any Indian who squares around for a quick shot at me will have a hard time doing that and hiding from the posse boys, too. Would you like to scrooch up to the ridge again and help out?”
My one comfort as I managed a nod was that I would have a sure means of retreat. As Blackfoot Terry strode toward his horse, however, he snatched this consolation away from me.
“When the braves have worked all the way around the hollow, one of them may try to find out if he can spot the boys from this knob. If one of them does, he might notice your horse, so watch out for that.”
It was of less concern to me that my horse might be seen by a lurking brave than that I myself might be the object of such discovery. It would not be true to say that I felt lonesome after McQuinn rode out of sight around the base of the hill. My trouble, as I worked my way back to the skyline, was that the area seemed overcrowded with stealthy, invisible men, all bent on lifting my scalp.
The sense of danger sharpened my perceptions. Twice I caught fleeting glimpses of an Indian, as he edged nearer to the beleaguered posse. As alert as I felt myself to be, though, I was slow to react when something finally happened.
Over the ridge on the far side of the prairie bowl a horse came running. My first thought was that it was one of theponies which McQuinn had stampeded, but going the wrong way. Then a man’s head showed over the withers of the wildly racing horse. I caught only a glimpse of it before it ducked down, but the sight was enough to warn me that the moment of action had arrived.
Yet in spite of the pressure of urgency, I had nothing to do but to try to look everywhere at once. Searching all points of the prairie for Indians who might pop up to risk a shot, I also found it impossible to keep from following the progress of the invisible rider, careering around the rim of the hollow behind the line of attack.
Halfway to me his
While I was wondering how he knew, a shot and the rising smoke from black powder showed that somebody was certainly in the cover indicated. “Where are the Indians?” I asked.
“Look down my sights,” he suggested.
When I had twisted my head into the necessary position, I could see a patch of brown behind a low shrub. Even as I squinted, it moved, and I lost sight of it.
Up to that moment the business had not seemed real, but awareness of the silent menace which was enveloping the posse then swooped down to grip me. “I’m afraid I lost your shot for you,” I told McQuinn. At the same time I didn’t like the idea of drawing attention to our presence until we had worked out a plan for getting out of trouble as well as jumping into it. “How many are there, would you say?”
“There’s no sense in shooting now.” There was a pause before he answered my question. “I’ve spotted six — no, seven, and they’ll be sneaking in from all sides. There’s probably twenty or thirty of them.”
I still hadn’t been able to locate any of the attackers unaided. “Do you know how many there are in the posse?”
“There
were
six, but I wouldn’t want to bet on the count now.” He started to work away from the ridge, and once again I followed him. “Now,” he went on, when we had reached a point where we could stand with safety, “there’s only one way to break this up. These Cheyennes have naturally left their ponies where they’d be safe from gunfire. The game is to stampede the nags and let the redskins knowthey’d better start horse hunting, if they don’t want to be stuck out here afoot.”
His analysis was clear to me, and so were the hazards. “The ponies will be guarded, naturally.”
“I’ll have to kill the horse wrangler,” he agreed. “Then I’ve got to ride back within shouting range, to let the bucks know they’re up against it.”
“Shouting range is closer then shooting range,” I said.
“Yes, but I’ll be moving fast, and any Indian who squares around for a quick shot at me will have a hard time doing that and hiding from the posse boys, too. Would you like to scrooch up to the ridge again and help out?”
My one comfort as I managed a nod was that I would have a sure means of retreat. As Blackfoot Terry strode toward his horse, however, he snatched this consolation away from me.
“When the braves have worked all the way around the hollow, one of them may try to find out if he can spot the boys from this knob. If one of them does, he might notice your horse, so watch out for that.”
It was of less concern to me that my horse might be seen by a lurking brave than that I myself might be the object of such discovery. It would not be true to say that I felt lonesome after McQuinn rode out of sight around the base of the hill. My trouble, as I worked my way back to the skyline, was that the area seemed overcrowded with stealthy, invisible men, all bent on lifting my scalp.
The sense of danger sharpened my perceptions. Twice I caught fleeting glimpses of an Indian, as he edged nearer to the beleaguered posse. As alert as I felt myself to be, though, I was slow to react when something finally happened.
Over the ridge on the far side of the prairie bowl a horse came running. My first thought was that it was one of theponies which McQuinn had stampeded, but going the wrong way. Then a man’s head showed over the withers of the wildly racing horse. I caught only a glimpse of it before it ducked down, but the sight was enough to warn me that the moment of action had arrived.
Yet in spite of the pressure of urgency, I had nothing to do but to try to look everywhere at once. Searching all points of the prairie for Indians who might pop up to risk a shot, I also found it impossible to keep from following the progress of the invisible rider, careering around the rim of the hollow behind the line of attack.
Halfway to me his
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