A sheet of flame burst from the rifles of the scouts, and so many ponies went down that the redskins divided to the right and left, discharging their arrows as they swept by.
At this moment Captain Jack sprang into his saddle.
“After them, men,” he cried. “Give them no chance to turn on us! Crowd them! Powder-burn them!”
Never was a band of redskins more surprised; for they expected the Rangers to remain near the tree, and upon the defensive. With a wild whoop, the followers of Jack Hays galloped after the running braves, keeping up a perfect fusillade with their pistols. The Comanches were thunderstruck at this turn of affairs. Some tried in vain to turn their horses and make a stand, but such was the wild confusion of running horses, popping pistols, and yelling Rangers, that they abandoned the idea of a rally, and sought safety in furious flight. In endeavoring to dodge the terrible five-shooters, some dropped their bows and round shields. Some kept off the Rangers by thrusting at them with their long lances.
The Indians ran for three miles before they could get away. The Rangers now rode back, well satisfied with the day’s work, and were surprised to see the result of their charge. The ground was fairly black with dead redskins. Many years afterwards a friendly Delaware Indian, called “Bob,” met the Comanche chieftain who led his warriors in this fight.
“Who did you battle with upon this occasion?” he asked.
“Ugh! Jack Hays and his Rangers,” gloomily replied the Comanche chief, shaking his head. “I never want to fight him again. Ugh! Ugh! His soldiers had a shot for every finger on their hands. I lost half of all my warriors. Ugh! Me never fight with him again.”
The Rangers soon afterwards had another tough little scrimmage with the Comanches. Fifteen of the Rangers were together at this time and they met an almost equal number of Indians, who were discovered at the foot of the mountains near the Frio River. The Indians were riding very tired horses, and the scouts thus gained upon them rapidly. The red men kept under cover, as much as possible, riding in ravines which had brushes and prickly pears around them, wherever they could do so.
Captain Jack and his men arrived at a little dried-up creek called Ci Bolo (buffalo creek) where they came close to the Indians, who were travelling in a ravine which hid them from view. The Rangers heard their leggings scraping against the brush, so, for some distance, they rode parallel with the savages, waiting for a chance to make a charge. The redskins could be heard talking to each other.
Suddenly the Comanches left the ravine and rode out in open view, not more than thirty yards away. They apparently were not aware of the presence of the scouts until a sharp crack warned them of their danger. At the first discharge, a redskin fell from his horse. The others attempted to run back to cover, yelling and shooting at the Rangers as they did so. But the scouts were too speedy for them and cut them off. One, however, seemed determined to get into the ravine. He disappeared into a thicket, at the edge of the gully, but a Ranger called Tom Galbraith dismounted, and, running to the edge of the thicket after the Indian had reached it, fired, and killed him.