"I know nothing of the sort. This talk about the cattle kings is all nonsense!" roared the cavalry officer. He knew Pawnee Brown was more than half right, but felt he must obey the orders he had received from his superiors. "I'll have to take you to the fort."
"All right, take me—if you can, captain," came the quick answer. "Don't you dare fire on me, for you know I am a crack shot and I promise I'll fire on you in return and lay you low!"
Thus speaking, the boomer wheeled about and sent Bonnie Bird off like a shot along the trail he had come.
The movement was so quick that for the moment the cavalry officer was paralyzed and knew not what to do. He raised his long pistol, but Pawnee Brown's stern threat rang in his ears and he hesitated about using the weapon, having no desire to be laid low.
"After him, men!" he roared, upon recovering his wits. "We must capture him!"
"Shall we fire, cap'n?" came from several, and a number of shining pistol barrels were leveled toward the great scout.
"N—no, capture him alive," came the hesitating reply; and away went the calvary men at a breakneck speed in pursuit.
Looking back over his shoulder, Pawnee saw them coming. To lessen the chances of being shot, he bent low over his faithful mare's neck.
"On, Bonnie, on!" he cried softly, and the beautiful animal seemed to understand that it was a race for life and death.
"Crack!" It was the report of a pistol close at hand. Looking among the trees, Pawnee Brown saw an arm wearing the colors of a cavalryman disappearing among the foliage of a nearby tree. He aimed his own weapon and pulled the trigger. A yell of pain followed.