“Wait a minnit, boys,” said Old Pegs. “We’ll give ’em a most immortal thrashing afore sundown or my name ain’t Old Pegs. Thunder; what’s that?”
A rattling volley was suddenly poured into the Blackfeet from the rear, and the scouts who had been seen crawling up to the cabin went back with wild yells of surprise, and sprung into the saddle, while counter yells arose from the front and flanks.
“Je—whitteker!” yelled Old Pegs. “Hear the onnatril varmint sound ther loud alarums. Who be they—who in thunder be they?”
“Perhaps it is the brigade,” said Myrtle, hopefully.
“’Tain’t so; d’ye think the boys in Farrell’s brigade yell like that? Them’s Injuns, but what tribe and why they ar’ sailing in on the Blackfeet, the devil may know. Let’s rush out and help ’em, anyhow.”
The wound of Dave Farrell was at best but a slight one, and rushing out with Old Pegs and Rafe Norris, all armed with heavy rifles, they began to blaze away at the now retreating Blackfeet. Assailed thus in front, flank and rear, these gallant men did not give up but fought with a devotion to their leader which would have done credit to men of a higher civilization. One by one they dropped from their saddles until only five were left, and among these the brave chief Whirlwind, who had passed unscathed through the hail-storm of leaden balls.
“Dogs!” cried the chief, shaking his lance in the air. “Whirlwind will go, but when he comes again his vengeance will be terrible.”
Calling to the few men who surrounded him he wheeled his horse and dashed away across the little valley, making no further effort to force his way through the pass which was so closely environed by his enemies. Many dusky figures darted from the bushes on every hand, and shot after shot was sent after the flying horsemen, and while they were yet within short rifle range three of Whirlwind’s men dropped bleeding to the earth. But the chief seemed to bear a charmed life and disappeared behind a clump of trees near the center of the glade. Many Indians were seen racing after him on foot, and it needed but a glance to show Old Pegs that they were Modoc Sioux, the inveterate enemies of the Blackfeet.
“Git cover, quick!” cried the old hunter. “They’ll see us.”
“It is of no use to hide,” replied Rafe Norris. “I, for one, mean to yield myself a prisoner, and I advise you to do the same.”