head showed once more. So did his fist, which shook something formless and dangling. And while making this gesture of defiance Blackfoot Terry shouted words of which I could make nothing, though I understood them. He was telling the Indians of the scattered ponies and of their dead warden.
As McQuinn had foreseen, his advantage was that cover and concealment rarely work well from two directions at once. A safe spot from which to fire down upon the white men in the thicket was not apt to offer hiding for a brave who wished to wheel around for a snap shot uphill at the running horse. Several must have attempted the maneuver, for I heard rifle fire from the direction of the trees, but I myself saw only one Indian. He turned away from his post behind a clump of weeds just as I was swinging my gun to bear toward the spot where he crouched.
As I was lining up my sights, I heard a rifle bark from the other side of the knob’s rocky crest. It was the very thing I had been fearing, but I didn’t have time to worry about the Indian somewhere abreast of me. The one trying to shoot McQuinn was uppermost in my mind.
In my hurry to get off my shot first I missed, but thebullet struck near enough to make him drop down. Shots were being loosed from other points in the hollow, however, and I groaned as the gambler’s horse stumbled in response to one of them. A bullet kicked rock splinters in my own face then, and when I looked again the horse was down with McQuinn trying to jerk him to his feet.
The sight of their man brought to earth was too much for the Cheyennes, who rose, whooped, and fired. Equally forgetful of caution, the posse members broke from the woods to shoot at the Indians, at last making fair targets. Everybody was firing but everybody was in such furious haste that I don’t believe any damage was done. I know I emptied my gun at a warrior running toward McQuinn without doing better than clip shrub leaves just behind him.
My shots made him remember where he was, though, and he dropped down in the tall grass out of sight. All the rest, on both sides, regained their senses and took cover also. As for McQuinn’s mount, it was up and running again, spouting blood from two wounds. A moment later it was out of my line of vision, over the rim of the hollow.
Remembering that I was not alone on the ridge, I put speed ahead of caution. My getaway wasn’t as rapid as I wanted to make it, though. It was only when I was dashing toward my big brute of a coach horse that I realized I could not mount it without something to give me a boost. When I had untied the animal, therefore, my only recourse was to leg it, urging my confused and balking steed to follow. A bullet from the warrior on the knob zinged past me before I had gone very far, however, and at the crack of the rifle I lost my position in the lead. Springing forward, the horse started dragging me.
Barely managing to keep my feet, I was lurching forward when I heard McQuinn rushing toward me. There was bloodsmeared over him as well as his mount, but whether it all came from the latter was something I didn’t take time to find out. Instead I looked back at the Indian on the ridge, who was getting ready to fire again. He missed when I swerved, and sighted once more.
I saw the puff of smoke, but I was in the air before the sound of the explosion reached me. “Short,” the gambler said, as he bore me along by an arm hooked under my shoulders. “Put your foot on mine.”
We were abreast of my horse by the time I had managed to do that. I wasn’t at all sure of my ability to climb on the taller animal, but it was either that or be trampled underfoot after Blackfoot Terry let go. For a moment I sprawled on the broad back, unable to catch hold of anything and jolting painfully. Then my straining left hand got a grip on the horse collar, and I hoisted myself out of chaos.
Sitting up, I saw McQuinn ahead of me, albeit on a steed which was beginning to slow down.
As McQuinn had foreseen, his advantage was that cover and concealment rarely work well from two directions at once. A safe spot from which to fire down upon the white men in the thicket was not apt to offer hiding for a brave who wished to wheel around for a snap shot uphill at the running horse. Several must have attempted the maneuver, for I heard rifle fire from the direction of the trees, but I myself saw only one Indian. He turned away from his post behind a clump of weeds just as I was swinging my gun to bear toward the spot where he crouched.
As I was lining up my sights, I heard a rifle bark from the other side of the knob’s rocky crest. It was the very thing I had been fearing, but I didn’t have time to worry about the Indian somewhere abreast of me. The one trying to shoot McQuinn was uppermost in my mind.
In my hurry to get off my shot first I missed, but thebullet struck near enough to make him drop down. Shots were being loosed from other points in the hollow, however, and I groaned as the gambler’s horse stumbled in response to one of them. A bullet kicked rock splinters in my own face then, and when I looked again the horse was down with McQuinn trying to jerk him to his feet.
The sight of their man brought to earth was too much for the Cheyennes, who rose, whooped, and fired. Equally forgetful of caution, the posse members broke from the woods to shoot at the Indians, at last making fair targets. Everybody was firing but everybody was in such furious haste that I don’t believe any damage was done. I know I emptied my gun at a warrior running toward McQuinn without doing better than clip shrub leaves just behind him.
My shots made him remember where he was, though, and he dropped down in the tall grass out of sight. All the rest, on both sides, regained their senses and took cover also. As for McQuinn’s mount, it was up and running again, spouting blood from two wounds. A moment later it was out of my line of vision, over the rim of the hollow.
Remembering that I was not alone on the ridge, I put speed ahead of caution. My getaway wasn’t as rapid as I wanted to make it, though. It was only when I was dashing toward my big brute of a coach horse that I realized I could not mount it without something to give me a boost. When I had untied the animal, therefore, my only recourse was to leg it, urging my confused and balking steed to follow. A bullet from the warrior on the knob zinged past me before I had gone very far, however, and at the crack of the rifle I lost my position in the lead. Springing forward, the horse started dragging me.
Barely managing to keep my feet, I was lurching forward when I heard McQuinn rushing toward me. There was bloodsmeared over him as well as his mount, but whether it all came from the latter was something I didn’t take time to find out. Instead I looked back at the Indian on the ridge, who was getting ready to fire again. He missed when I swerved, and sighted once more.
I saw the puff of smoke, but I was in the air before the sound of the explosion reached me. “Short,” the gambler said, as he bore me along by an arm hooked under my shoulders. “Put your foot on mine.”
We were abreast of my horse by the time I had managed to do that. I wasn’t at all sure of my ability to climb on the taller animal, but it was either that or be trampled underfoot after Blackfoot Terry let go. For a moment I sprawled on the broad back, unable to catch hold of anything and jolting painfully. Then my straining left hand got a grip on the horse collar, and I hoisted myself out of chaos.
Sitting up, I saw McQuinn ahead of me, albeit on a steed which was beginning to slow down.
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