The scout raced along for about a quarter of a mile; then, seeing that the redskins were far behind, stopped in order to load his rifle. He had just rammed home a ball when the Blackfeet began to draw near, so he dropped behind the stump of a moss-grown tree and waited for them to come on. They approached quite hurriedly, gazing at the ground for tracks, and eagerly pointing out the traces of the trapper’s footprints. When they came within good range “Old Bill” pressed the trigger and a Blackfoot brave fell to the earth, shot through the heart.
“I reckon that this will stop ’em fer er minute er two,” said the man of the plains as he continued his flight up the canyon. He raced ahead for about a half a mile, then halted again in order to load his gun.
The Indians were soon upon him, but they had learned caution, and spread out on either side of him, in order to get in his rear. “Old Bill” was not to be caught napping, and ran like a deer still further up the divide. He was much swifter of foot than the red men, and soon left them far behind. The scout sat down upon a fallen tree trunk, and said to himself:
“Now, I’ll back track like a grizzly, and will get another shot at these painted hyenas.”
Suiting the action to the words, he put on a furious burst of speed for about a half a mile, then doubled back for about two hundred yards. To the right was some fallen timber, and into this the trapper skipped like a molly cotton-tail. “Ah ha!” said he. “I think this will get ’em!”
In a few moments the red warriors hastened by on the run: one of them about a hundred yards astern of the rest. As he came opposite the hiding-place of the scout, “Old Bill” leaped into view, and knocking him down with a well directed bullet, seized his victim’s gun just as another started to come back to where he was standing. This one was dispatched by the Blackfoot rifle, and “Old Bill” had the satisfaction of seeing the fourth (and last) savage run up the canyon in terror, screaming:
“The Great Spirit is with him! The Great Spirit is with him!”
As he disappeared a broad smile came to the face of the trapper, while he wiped the beads of perspiration from his brow.
“By Crickets!” said he. “A tight squeeze, Bill. A tight squeeze!”