Behind them the enraged Blackfeet began shooting, and the bullets whistled over the heads of the fugitives.
"I pray none of those hits little Fairy," panted Frank.
"Ef we could strike some kind o' cover an' hed a minute to spar', we'd be able ter stan' ther varmints off," came from Old Rocks.
"My rifle is empty."
"I ain't got mine, an' I'll allow my small guns are empty; but I kin load 'em as we run."
"We may have to fight anyhow."
"Right, boy. Ef we do, dog my cats ef we don't make some o' them onery skunks gaul derned sick!"
Still running, Old Rocks snapped the empty shells from his revolvers, and replaced them with fresh cartridges.
At times it was not easy to keep track of the Hermit, who ran through the night with the speed of a deer and the tirelessness of a hound.
Now and then the frightened child cried out, and this aided Frank and the old guide in following.