But when the boys began to fire systematically at them, kicking up the snow about them with every shot, it became a veritable panic.
Shouts of terror were heard, and, as the young woman raised the man with the silver mask to his feet and helped him walk to the tent, the others hastily saddled their ponies, and prepared to decamp.
All the while the boys were pumping Winchester balls into them, and occasionally a horse dropped, or with a yell a man would grasp a leg or an arm and fall to the ground.
"We've got them going," shouted Ted. "Keep it up until we get them on the run."
The boys fired their rifles until they got hot, then waited for them to cool, and resumed firing.
It was like bedlam in the valley, and not one of the men attempted to retaliate by firing back. They were in a panic of fear.
As soon as one got his horse saddled he dashed away toward the head of the valley out of the way of those spiteful bullets which sang about them like enraged hornets.
Not one of them stopped to burden himself with his baggage, nor did they pay any attention to the stolen cattle.
They were in too much of a hurry to get away safely themselves.
The Indians left their tepees standing, and ran for their lives.